


First You Have to Paddle Like a Pup

by tryslora



Series: It's Hard to Move Through Water [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Anxiety, Background Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Collars, Danny Mahealani Finds Out, Full Moon, Full Shift Werewolves, Hospitalization, Jackson Stays in Beacon Hills, Jackson-Centric, Jealousy, Minor Danny Mahealani/Danny's Ex, Minor Ethan/Danny Mahealani, Minor Lydia Martin/Original Character(s), Mistletoe, Mother-Son Relationship, Nightmares, Other, Pack Cuddles, Panic Attacks, Past Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Pre-Slash, Scent Marking, Season 3a Canon AU, Telluric Currents, Werewolf Jackson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 10:30:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 130,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6002527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson doesn't feel right in his own skin anymore, and he's damn sure that moving to London isn't going to change that. While his parents leave Beacon Hills, Jackson stays and starts to build a new life as a wolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cynicalwerebear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynicalwerebear/gifts).



> This fic is my final auction fic from chibi's auction. Cynicalwerebear purchased a minimum 50k fic, and this (first in a series) will be that fic. His prompt centered around a post he made on tumblr about [what if Jackson never left?](http://cynicalwerebear.tumblr.com/post/82202994315/what-if-jackson-never-left) and I have been having a blast rebuilding canon with Jackson in it. This story is becoming the love letter to the Jackson we never got to see, and the Jackson and Danny relationship that could have built.
> 
> I will be tagging the story as it goes, updating as needed when chapters are posted. If you see something that should be tagged, please let me know. This will be following the canon of seasons 3a and 3b, so please expect canon occurrences, including deaths that happened on the show. Currently the fic is tagged as Jackson & Danny because that friendship/relationship is the focus of the story along with Jackson himself.
> 
> I will update weekly, on Sundays, until the story is done. At this point I am 15 chapters into a roughly 30 chapter story, so you can expect regularity. So many MANY thanks to venivincere who is incredible and wonderful and has helped ensure that this story is better than I thought it could be.

Jackson rarely feels as if he fits inside his own skin anymore. Popular jock, homicidal lizard, _werewolf_ : he’s been all of them, and none of them sound right to him when he tries the label on for size. His skin itches with the need to run, but running with Derek’s done nothing for him.

Nothing changes. Nothing _ever_ changes. When the day is done, he still feels awkward and strange and like something’s wrong.

He kicks at an open box on the floor, sending it flying across the room to bump into a pile of closed and taped boxes, each meticulously labeled _Jackson’s room_. He should be throwing things out, making it easier on his parents. There are so many things he doesn’t need to ship, won’t need while he’s in London.

_Fuck_ London. He doesn’t want to go.

He stares at the mirror, hates the face glaring back at him and twists his neck, lets the shift come over him. He growls at the beast he sees, all fur and fangs and fury.

That’s more like it.

“Jackson—” His mother cuts off as soon as she sees him, stopping just inside the half-open door.

He grins, sharp and bright. “We talked about this. It’s who I am, get used to it.”

She sighs, breath tight in her chest. “Yes, Jackson, we talked about it, and this is who you’re leaving in Beacon Hills. You can start fresh in London, be yourself again. Not a….” Her voice trails off as her fingers move in the air, indicating his face. Her lips press thinly together. “We are not bringing this supernatural nonsense to London with us.”

“I can’t leave it behind!” Jackson protests. “This is _me_. This is _who I am_.” The words end on a snarl, rough in his chest, burgeoning outward in a bared-teeth growl. His mother shrinks back, and the wolf inside his chest _likes_ it, _likes_ that she’s scared of him. He takes a step toward her, pushes at the air until she moves back into the hall, eyes wide.

“This is your son,” he says quietly, thick around his fangs. “I can’t leave this behind. Wherever I am, it comes with me.”

“It will not come to London.” Her words are sharp, clipped, as if she can somehow cut the beast from beneath his skin with them.

It makes him smile, start to laugh because she just doesn’t understand. “Then maybe I won’t go to London either,” he says, and backs away.

That itch is back, like a parade of fire ants down his back, and he howls loudly, throwing his head back. He falls forward, landing on his palms, scraping his knees on the floor. It feels as if his skin is rippling, responding to his anger with its own fury, impotent to make noise, but destroying him nonetheless. He closes his eyes and whimpers, gives in to the fire and prays that maybe this time, maybe _this time_ it will leave nothing behind.

The world is different when he opens his eyes again, cast in greys and sharp edges, perfectly in focus without the bright colors. He opens his mouth and a growl comes out, lip curling to show thick teeth in his muzzle as his mother stares at him.

“Jackson,” she whispers, and he makes a warning sound before she can get closer.

He doesn’t want to be touched, doesn’t want to be comforted. He backs away, ears pinned back and teeth bared, legs splayed as he snarls loudly. _No_.

She retreats slowly, pulling her hand in to her chest and cradling it there. Her whisper of his name is sorrowed, but Jackson doesn’t care.

He wants to run, so he does, past his mother and down the stairs, leaping through the open window in the living room in order to escape.

Jackson runs, and he doesn’t look back.

#

The Preserve is different on four legs instead of two. Jackson pads along the trails, catching scents that are too delicate for a human nose, trailing a family of rabbits into their burrow, then chasing one down until he sates the wolf’s hunger.

There’s a flicker of thought at the back of his mind that sounds suspiciously like Derek saying _werewolves don’t kill_ but that was for _humans_ , not _food_. And maybe if Jackson were human at the moment, he’d be disgusted about eating a rabbit in the wild, but he’s giving over to the wolf.

It feels good to let go, good to let the other side of himself be in control.

Time passes in a haze of _sleep_ , _hunt,_ and _explore_. There are no clocks here, no need to pay attention to daylight and dark other than when he’s tired or unable to sleep with the sun in his eyes. He maps out the Preserve with his nose, swinging wide from the space where he catches Derek’s scent, mingled with a hint of Isaac and Peter. He wants nothing to do with humans, and _nothing_ to do with Derek.

He heads deeper into the trees, seeking a space to make a den, following unfamiliar scents to explore and learn. There’s a scent that intrigues him, makes him wonder exactly what it is. He doesn’t remember catching it with his human nose, when working with Derek and he wants to know what it is. Senses flared wide, eyes scanning the woods, he traces it back to a cave where it is strong, a pungent warning to _go away_.

He doesn’t listen and pokes his muzzle through the cobwebs and into the dark space.

The growl comes from deep in the darkness, reverberating loudly. He nudges in deeper, seeking out the culprit, and spots the coyote in the corner, hackles raised and tail stiff as it growls again.

No, _her_. The coyote is female, and protecting her space, scattered with strange human artifacts. Jackson ignores the coyote, steps in and noses at the doll on the ground.

He’s not prepared for the coyote to pounce, teeth sharp as they skim his shoulder and they tumble to one side. They wrestle for control and Jackson comes up on his feet with only a scratch, the sharp smell of blood in the air. He doesn’t want to hurt her, but he doesn’t want to get his throat torn out, either.

He lowers his head quickly, noses the doll towards her, and she stops abruptly, staring at him.

He isn’t going to give her the satisfaction of cowing him. He’s not the alpha here, but neither is she, so he growls again, low in his throat, and feels the way his eyes flash brightly.

She tilts her head, gaze narrowing before she thrusts her muzzle forward and snarls, eyes flashing blue.

_Blue_.

She’s not _just_ a coyote.

But she doesn’t seem to know he’s anything but a predator. Instinct takes over, and he takes a step back, ducking his head, ears back for just a moment before they flick forward. He yips to say _stay here_ and leaves the den.

It has nothing to do with the companionship and everything to do with the safe sleeping space: he wants to share that den.

Jackson hunts down a large rabbit and carries it back in his teeth, entering the cave without hesitation and dropping it on the floor. When he noses it toward her, she pricks her ears, tilts her head, and waits. He huffs and puts one paw on it, tearing himself a chunk of meat before pushing it toward her again, then abruptly turning his back and sitting down to eat.

He can hear her eating behind him, and he ignores her, letting her take her fill while he eats what he has. He’s already had food once today; he doesn’t need more, and she seems far more wild than himself.

The sound stops and he turns his head, to peer at her, his eyes flashing again. She lowers her head once, then sidles forward, insinuating herself into the space next to him. She stretches out, and he lets his head fall across her back, breathes easy as she relaxes. She yawns once, and when she sleeps, Jackson can finally truly rest as well.

#

It’s strange how the coyote feels more like family than his actual family. Admittedly, none of them are blood relations, but this feels _right_ , like Jackson’s finally found the place where he should be.

He lets go of his human side, playing with the coyote in the woods, chasing until one catches the other, rolling around in mock battle. She teaches him how to fight better, how to _hunt_ better. He realizes that he doesn’t need to eat every day if he eats more in one day, that he can spend an entire day in the sun, curled around his new pack member comfortably.

When she rolls to her feet abruptly, nose in the air, he lifts his nose as well, catching the scent. He sifts through the various scents he has learned and finally identifies it: _deer_. She yips and he comes to his feet, meeting her to lope by her side down the vague path between the trees, seeking that place where the scent is thick and the herd gathers to drink at the stream.

She leans against him, shoulder to shoulder, then looks away.

He nuzzles her in agreement; they will split up, and she will herd the deer to him to take down.

He can do this, but more importantly, _they_ can do this.

She plays her role perfectly, cutting one of the elder deer from the herd, driving the buck towards him. He needs to avoid the antlers, and it takes two of them to finish the task, but in the end they can gorge on a feast that will last them for days. They sleep right there when done, not bothering to go back to their den.

He wakes to find the coyote lapping water from the stream, then glancing at him curiously.

His entire life has changed. He remembers his humanity, feels those memories prick at the corners of his senses and he knows he has things left undone.

He has no idea how to say _I’ll be back_ in a way that the coyote will understand. Time is a human concept that makes him itch and sneeze, but it will pass before he returns.

He could stay. He could just stay and hunt and live with his small pack.

Or he could finish things, resolve the threads he left hanging.

He whuffs as it to say _it won’t take long_ but he’s sure she doesn’t understand. The coyote watches him leave, and he hears her low sniff of irritation, and imagines that if she were human she’d be rolling her eyes. It doesn’t matter, he knows where to find her when he gets back.

#

He has to sneak into his own house, using the key under the mat at the back door and creeping naked up the stairs to his room. He just barely manages to get a pair of sweats dragged up over his hips, pulled on with the strangeness of human fingers, when he hears his mother call out.

“Jackson?”

He isn’t sure how long it’s been, but the boxes are still here, his room exactly as he left it. He wonders what his parents will do with his things when he tells them, if they’ll just throw them out, give them to some hapless homeless person who doesn’t deserve Hugo Boss and Gucci.

It’s surprising to realize that he doesn’t care, but wolves don’t need _things_.

His mother pushes open his door, stops dead when she sees him. “Jackson.” The word is a low exhalation, hand against her chest to hold her heart in place. He can hear her, the way it stutters and shifts into rapid overdrive, caught in fear and excitement.

He doesn’t want to scare her.

He just doesn’t want to go with them. It doesn’t feel like family any more.

“I’m not going to London.” His voice is rough, hoarse with disuse. Words taste strange on his tongue—he should howl or growl, snarl or whine.

“You’ve been gone for five days,” she says, taking a hesitant step toward him. “Jackson, you can’t do this, you can’t let this… this…. You can’t let it win. You are _human_. You are my son, and I love you.”

It’s the wrong tack to take, and he growls without thinking about it, one corner of his lip lifting as his canines drop into place. “Not by blood,” he says sharply, as if she needs to be reminded that she bought a baby when his own parents died. “And I’m not just human anymore. You _know_ that. I’m a werewolf. _I killed people_.”

She takes a step back then, her heart going impossibly fast. “I know what Derek Hale told me, Jackson.” Her voice is remarkably even, despite the panic in her blood. “That wasn’t you. You were under someone else’s control.”

“I am _always_ under someone else’s control!” He roars the words, hears the way they echo off the empty walls of his room. She stands her ground and stares at him, and something inside of him deflates at the sight of her, at the empty, sorrowed scent.

“I can’t let you control me, too,” he whispers. “That’s all, Mom. I can’t let my parents control me. I can’t risk it. That’s all anyone wants, isn’t it? For me to be the right person, the right son, the best person. But I can’t do that. I can’t be anyone else but who I am, now. And this is who I am.”

He shoves down his sweats and kicks them away as he goes to all fours, let the change wash over him. It comes more easily now, as if the wolf is a truer part of his being than the human side. He stands there, ears slightly back, wary of his mother as she approaches and goes to her knees in front of him.

She holds out one hand, palm down, lets him nose in and inhale her scent and lick the salt from her skin. Then she catches his ears, scritches behind them and it feels nice, comforting in a way he can’t seem to find in his human shell. “You’re beautiful like this, Jackson.” She smiles slightly, and he recognizes it for the fond gesture it’s meant to be, rather than the baring of teeth that his wolf sees. “All champagne and ice, like no other wolf I’ve ever seen.”

Her sigh is heavy, and he licks her cheek once to comfort her. When he noses in close, she puts her arms around his ruff, carefully hugging him. “I don’t want to leave you. Whatever you say—whatever you believe, Jackson—you _are_ my son, and I love you.”

He presses his muzzle to her cheek, head butts her once, then retreats, pulling back from the circle of her arms. It’s cold on the other side of the room, the air almost too thin to breathe, laden with fear and hurt that his wolf’s tongue tastes too brightly.

She stays where he left her, hands falling to her knees as she watches him. “I don’t know what to do,” she says quietly. “This place is poison, Jackson. It’s already killed you once, and I don’t want to lose you again. And this—” She stops abruptly, lips pressed together for a moment before her eyes close and she worries at her lower lip, an uncharacteristic crack in the Whittemore armor.

He considers going to her, but he knows that if he slips back into her embrace, he might lose himself, let the human overwhelm the wolf. And Jackson can’t do that. He needs to get away, to make this break from humanity.

He lies down, head on his paws, and stares at her.

She blinks, inhales a slow, rough breath, and lets it out over long moments. “You’ve always been stubborn,” she murmurs. “I’ve been worried, so worried about you, and you’ve been out there, letting this take you away from us. I can’t—we can’t stay here, Jackson. I can’t watch you….”

Jackson is certain she meant to say more, but her voice goes silent. Her gaze drops, and his wolf sees it as a victory, an act of submission and acquiescence. He wonders how long he was with the coyote in the Preserve, and how long his mother has had to think things through. It might have been better if he’d never come back, but at least this way, he has said goodbye in his own way.

He can see the resolve slide under her skin, smell the way she uses an emotional wall to hide the desperation and fear. She stands slowly, brushing dust from her knees. “The house is being sublet.” Her voice is cooler now, the perfect wife and mother that she has always been, emotions locked away. She looks down at him, jaw tight, a muscle twitching at the back, as if she waits for him to hear something in her words that she is not saying. Each word is carefully measured, tone low and calm. “Your things will be in storage. I fully expect that at some point you will return to yourself, and I expect you to contact me then. You will not be a wolf forever, Jackson Whittemore. You are stronger than this.”

He snorts softly, whuffs his humor. This _is_ his strength.

“Be safe,” she says. One hand rises, reaches as he comes to his feet, but neither of them closes the distance between them. She blinks and he smells salt in the air from her tears, then she leaves him alone.

He could open boxes, take human clothes with him, but it seems like a useless idea. After all, he has a warm den and a potential packmate in the Preserve. He has no need for anything but fur.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **New tags being added for this chapter:** Nightmares, Past Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Minor Lydia Martin/Original Character(s), Collars, Minor Danny Mahealani/Danny's Ex, Pack Cuddles

Jackson wakes into the darkness, panting as if he’s been running for miles, the sound of a growl close to his ear. He shifts and the coyote nips at him, teeth closing carefully on his ear to hold him in place. She noses at his muzzle, and he turns slightly to reassure her that he’s fine.

It was only a nightmare.

He rolls to his feet, ignoring the way she whines at him for leaving the warmth of the den when he pads outside. He lopes through the woods, moon high overhead, and tries to settle his mind.

No matter how long he spends as a wolf—and he’s lost track of days again—he can’t seem to leave his humanity entirely behind. The nightmares slip into the cracks of his mind, and he finds himself killing people in his dreams, or drowning under water he knows shouldn’t be able to conquer him. It leaves him shaken.

The coyote finds him, nuzzling in close to lean her lighter weight against him, pushing into him. He leans back, takes the comfort she offers, and when she nips at his haunch, he follows her back to the den.

#

The coyote follows him to the edge of the Preserve, whining when he moves closer to town. He can smell humanity, and she turns her head, walks away and whuffs for him to follow her back to safety. But he’s _fine_. He tries to communicate that, and in the end he simply leaves her behind to pad into the outlying suburban areas of Beacon Hills.

These are familiar trails for him, if he were traveling on two feet. He lopes through the expensive parts of town, where his old home now has unfamiliar scents lingering, and a strange car in the driveway. He growls at the perimeter, and pisses on the place where someone planted mums where his mother’s roses used to be.

He marks two more places around the edge of his old yard, growling at the dog he sees through the window, sitting on the back of a couch and yapping at him. He barks once, loudly, and it yips and disappears, and he whuffs, mission accomplished.

They might be staying here, but it is still _his_ home, whether he lives here or not.

He lopes along the streets, staying just out of sight of the people still out in the darkness. He doesn’t think about where his feet lead him, just follows instinct and scent until he stands outside of Lydia’s home, where she stands in the doorway, one finger hooked in the collar of a stranger’s shirt.

She tugs him in, kisses him hard and fast; Jackson can hear the way his heart speeds in response. Lydia’s hand slides low, and there’s a rush of musk when she does something he can’t see, something that makes the boy go rigid and then lax, shoving Lydia through the door.

Her laugh is still audible even after the door closes, words easily heard by wolven ears.

“I’m not made of glass, and I call the shots,” she murmurs, while fabric rustles. “No one’s going to be home for hours. You promised me a good time; I expect you to make good on that promise, _many_ times.”

Jackson can imagine the scene easily, and he sits down quickly, ears drooping, tail flat upon the ground. He tilts his head, listening at first, then turning as if he can shake the noise from ears that can’t stop hearing the details.

It should hurt. It should rip apart his heart and leave him bleeding. She was his first love, his only true love. She brought him back from the dead.

But there’s only a dull ache, a loss of something familiar and comfortable that never quite fit right after he died. Maybe his ability to love died with him, or maybe this is just who he is. Maybe he’s as broken as he always suspected, and maybe his humanity’s always been slipping away.

After all, there has to be a reason why he could be so easily turned into a killer.

A glint on the ground catches his eye, and as he noses against the grass he finds a bracelet, slightly dug in as if it had been dropped and ground in by feet. He recognizes the charms on it—remembers picking out the bracelet for Lydia’s thirteenth birthday and adding a charm at every Christmas and birthday after that. She’d never worn it while they were dating, stating that it was too precious to risk losing it. Jackson always suspected that she hated it, but it was a thing between them, a part of who they were.

He digs at it with one paw and manages to catch at it with his teeth. He carries it to her front doorstep and drops it where it won’t be missed. Whether she threw it out on purpose, or somehow lost it, it’ll return to her hands now.

He tells himself he doesn’t care, but it’s a lie. Whatever they were, they were still friends, and it feels as if he’s been erased from her life now. It’s a little terrifying how easy it was to lose everything they had.

#

He recognizes the stench of Danny’s ex as he approaches his best friend’s home. His lip curls in a low growl, instinctive more than planned, and hears movement on the back porch. Danny looks around the edge of the house, brow furrowed slightly to see Jackson there, feet planted, head low as he snarls louder yet.

“I don’t think that’s safe,” Brandon says, standing behind Danny, and well, Brandon always was an asshole. Jackson wonders just how much he’d scream if Jackson got his teeth properly around his ankle, or his arm. He wonders if Danny would get the point that the guy is poison, or if it would make him feel sympathetic.

Probably sympathetic; Danny’s too kind for his own good. Which is why Jackson needs to keep him from starting up with this guy again.

If he’s not too late.

Jackson takes a step forward; Brandon steps back while Danny stands his ground, dropping into a low crouch, one hand out.

“He doesn’t have a collar,” Danny says quietly. “He’s just a hungry stray, Bran.”

Brandon crosses his arms, glaring at Jackson. “And he looks like he’s going to eat your hand if you let him. He’s feral, Danny. Listen to him growl. Dogs like that are dangerous, and that one looks like he’s half wolf, or half coyote. This is not some lost domestic dog.”

Jackson snaps the air in Brandon’s direction, then returns his attention to Danny’s outstretched hand. He creeps closer, stretches his muzzle out, just barely sniffing the air in front of Danny’s hand. As soon as he catches sight of Brandon moving in his peripheral vision, Jackson backpedals, growling loudly at him.

Danny stays crouched, his hands resting on his knees. “I don’t think he likes you, Bran.” There’s an easy grin as he says it, teasing and fond. “It’s probably your aftershave. I told you it had too much musk.”

It _does_ have too much musk, but Jackson can also smell the want that infuses Brandon’s skin, lusting after Danny, and he doesn’t want to let that happen again. Brandon _hurt_ Danny, destroyed him emotionally when they fought, and it was never a healthy relationship. He’s not good for Danny.

Jackson whines low in his throat, inches forward again until his head butts up against the backs of Danny’s curled fingers. Danny moves slowly, twisting his fingers to lightly stroke through Jackson’s ruff, barely touching him.

“He’s hungry,” Danny murmurs. “And he’s not unhealthy. He probably has a home, got lost. Maybe someone just moved him here and he can’t find his way home, or maybe he’s been dumped. Either way, I’m going to feed him, make sure he’s okay, and if you don’t like it, you can just go home.”

Jackson glances at Brandon in time to see a fierce scowl that disappears by the time Danny twists around to look as well. Brandon shrugs like it’s nothing. “Fine. But if he’s lost, you probably ought to call the shelter.”

“If he’s still here in the morning, I’ll take him to Deaton’s,” Danny agrees. He lifts one hand slowly, manages to get both hands into Jackson’s ruff, offering light scratches around his ears, careful and easy so that Jackson could escape at any moment.

Jackson’s ears tilt forward and his tail thumps the ground twice in approval. Brandon makes a disgusted noise.

“Don’t forget we have tickets to the show tomorrow.” Brandon edges past them, and Jackson just barely resists the urge to snap at him on the way by. He’ll save that for next time, really get the point across.

“I won’t.” Danny stands slowly, taps his thigh. “Come on, Kula. Let’s go see what we’ve got inside that’s good for a dog.”

“Kula?” Brandon stops halfway to his car. “You’re _naming_ him?”

“Until I find out differently, sure.” Danny shrugs. “I can’t just call him _dog_ or _hey you_. Animals answer better to names, and he’ll learn it soon enough. Means _gold_.” His hand falls low, and Jackson butts his head under it, gratified when Danny’s fingers comb through his fur. “Seems like a fitting name, considering.”

Brandon makes a disgusted noise, and by the time Jackson follows Danny to the back door, Brandon’s car peals out of the driveway. Danny rolls his eyes, leaning in the doorway and holding it open, closing it only after Jackson is inside and sitting on the floor by the refrigerator. Danny laughs at the sight. “You are _not_ wild,” he says dryly. “You know exactly where the good food is. And yeah, you’re just lucky we don’t have any kibble. Mom hasn’t been ready to even think about getting a new dog since Lucky died a year ago. She’s probably going to have fits if she comes home and finds you here, which means you can stay, but you’ll have to be quiet, and we’re cleaning up after ourselves. Got it?” He stares at Jackson like he expects an answer, and Jackson can’t resist giving him one.

He dips his head once, looks back up at Danny before he hunkers down, stretching out on the floor with his head on his paws.

“You’re an interesting one, Kula.” Danny pulls open the fridge and looks into it, reaching in to move things around, check behind things. “No leftover cooked meat; onions and garlic are poisonous to dogs. Eggs are good.” He pulls out a carton and sets it on the counter. “Chicken, that’s good, as long as it’s raw.” A package of something joins the eggs before Danny leans into the fridge again, reaching for something in the back. “Lucky always liked apples and carrots, and I’ve got some leftover rice here.” He sets more things down on the counter, and Jackson has to stand up and pad over to sit by his side.

From that vantage point, he can’t see a thing, so he puts his paws up on the counter, peering at the food Danny’s laid out. Jackson would be lying if he said he wasn’t hungry; he ate a deer a few days ago, but hasn’t been hungry enough to hunt yet. He knows he’ll go out with the coyote soon, but this is easier. _Much_ easier.

“Down.” Danny shoves at Jackson’s nose, and he goes easily back to the floor, lying down to wait until a bowl is dropped in front of him filled with a chicken leg, a pile of rice, a chopped up apple, a handful a baby carrots, all with two raw eggs spilled over it. Danny leaves it there for him and leans back against the counter, arms crossed.

“It’s probably more than you need, but the apples and carrots are treats, and if you haven’t eaten in a while, you’re hungry.” Danny watches as Jackson carefully crunches the raw bones, easily making his way through the meal. “You also are the neatest eater I’ve ever seen in a dog, and maybe one of the slowest. I might have been wrong about you being starving.”

Just for that, Jackson wolfs down the rest of it, pushing the empty bowl away with his nose.

He hears a sharp yip-howl in the distance, the howl coming again quickly, rising in agitation. He backs away slowly, recognizing his coyote’s voice, and makes an apologetic whuff.

Danny huffs a small laugh. “Of course, eat and run. Is that one of your friends?” Danny shakes his head. “Sounds like you’re running with coyotes, which isn’t wise. Unless she’s your mate.”

Definitely not. Jackson sneezes, shaking his head several times, and it makes Danny laugh all over again.

“Okay, just be careful. Brandon wasn’t wrong about you looking like a coydog, or a wolfdog, and if you’re hanging out with the wild animals, you might get shot. There are hunters around.”

If Jackson could, he’d laugh, because there are _definitely_ hunters around. Although the worst of them are away in France, last he knew, unless it’s later in the summer than he thinks. He just pads to the door, lifts his feet to press against it, whining when the coyote calls again, her voice nearer and even more insistent.

She’s at the far edge of Danny’s back yard, too far for Danny to see her, but Jackson catches the glint of her eyes flashing blue in irritation. He noses Danny’s hand once, then dashes out the back to meet her, before they race back to the cave for sleep.

#

Jackson visits Danny twice more, leaving when the coyote calls to him to come back to the pack. Before his third visit, he noses at her, presses his face into her muzzle and tries to reassure her that Danny’s okay, he’s not going to hurt them. She joins him on his trek through Beacon Hills, stopping at the edge to Danny’s property. Jackson sits at the back door patiently when Danny carries a bowl outside, ignores the fact that the coyote backs up when he approaches. Danny leaves the bowl at the edge of the lawn, and Jackson hears the low yip of thanks as he follows Danny inside.

“So, Kula.”

When Jackson glances up, Danny has a collar dangling from his fingertips. Jackson takes two quick steps back, the door blocking his way out, and Danny only folds his legs to sit cross-legged on the floor.

“I’m not going to force you,” Danny says quietly. “But if you’ve lived in someone’s home, you’ve probably worn one before. And maybe you can slip it off on your own and that’s what happened, but you really need to look like someone owns you.”

Jackson doesn’t want to be owned. He doesn’t want to be _controlled_. He shakes his head, growling low in his throat, ears pinned back.

Danny makes a face, and Jackson can smell the disappointment rising from his skin, tinged with worry. “Look, Kula.” Danny laughs slightly, rubs a hand over his eyes. “I’m arguing with you like you can understand me. Anyway. Dude. This is Beacon Hills, and we’ve had our share of animal attacks. The Sheriff and his deputies aren’t going to think twice about shooting a big dog that looks like he might be wild, so this collar is meant to save your ass. I’d try to put one on your coyote friend, too, since you seem pretty tight, but I can tell she’s not coming anywhere near me. I’m not even trying to take you to Dr. Deaton. I just want you to be safe, okay? And being safe means wearing this collar, so people will know you belong to someone.”

Danny has the collar dangling from the tip of one finger, and he moves his hand slightly, setting it to swinging. “I didn’t even put a tag on it, so no one will think you belong to me. It’s like you belong to yourself.” He shakes his head, closes his eyes for a moment. “Maybe I should just get a tag that says _Property of Kula_ , let them all wonder what the hell that means.”

It makes sense.

Everything Danny says makes sense, and he’s not trying to _control_ Jackson, he’s trying to give Jackson—Kula—control over himself.

He needs that.

His ears slowly relax, tilting forward, and he ducks his head. He moves slowly forward, bumping his forehead against Danny’s knee before he lays his head in his lap. He shivers when Danny carefully loops the collar around his throat, latches it and checks to see if it’s too loose or too tight. And there are several moments where he can’t breathe, where he can feel it choking him, getting tighter by the second like someone’s hands are there, squeezing all the air out to force him to do something. Anything.

Jackson coughs and wheezes, head low against the floor, while Danny strokes him worriedly. It passes, and he can still feel the weight of it around him.

It’s a strange weight, mixed up with the sense of Danny’s fingers in his ruff, carrying a hint of Danny’s scent. It feels as if it might give him balance, a small touchstone to his human side.

“Come on, Kula, let’s give you a look at how handsome you are.” Danny tugs gently at the collar until Jackson stands and pads with him down the hall and up the stairs, to where a full length mirror hangs on the wall outside of Danny’s room. “I just hope you aren’t one of those dogs who likes to fight with the animal in the mirror.”

As if he would.

Jackson sits on his haunches and tilts his head, regarding the creature that stares back at him. He’s used to the way color is muted by now, accustomed to the greyness of his world. But even like that he can see that his wolf is pale, either silver or gold, and he understands now why Danny calls him Kula and his mother termed him champagne. Ice blue eyes look more canine than wolven, and he narrows them slightly, leaning in close to his reflection. When he twists his head, peripheral vision lets him see the dark leather collar nestled in against his fur. This isn’t something that Danny picked up at Walmart; he went to a good pet store for it, bought a high end collar meant for people who treasure their dogs.

It leaves Jackson warm inside, comfortable in ways he has only been with the coyote in ages.

Danny is pack, he realizes, just as much as his coyote, but he can’t have them both at the same time. He knows she’s still nearby, her yips low enough not to draw any attention but his, trying to convince him to come back out.

But Jackson pads across the hall and into Danny’s room, leaping onto the bed and stretching out across the foot, rolling onto his back to distribute as much fur and scent as he can. He curls on his stomach then, head on his feet, and whines until Danny walks in and stares at him.

“You can’t move in,” Danny tells him. “Remember the part where Mom would kill me?”

Jackson huffs and rolls on his back, baring his belly. Danny sighs and settles onto the bed next to him, stretching out as he rubs at the soft fur and tender skin until Jackson whines and licks his face.

“I am not adopting you,” Danny mutters. “I’m just feeding you. Sometimes. You have a pack to go back to, and a collar to keep you safe. Okay, Kula?”

Jackson licks his chin again, presses his cold nose into the tender part of Danny’s throat, delighting when his packmate lets him nuzzle in close.

Of course Danny’s not adopting Jackson; Jackson has already adopted _him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, thank you so much for being here! I'm sure some of you are wondering if Jackson will ever return to human form, and let me assure you, that's definitely coming. Something to look forward to! Thank you for the lovely comments and kudos; you are all incredible and awesome and I hope you continue to enjoy the ride.
> 
> Currently I'm planning on posting the new tags at the start of each chapter. If you think they should be posted at the end instead, let me know! Also, if you ever see something you think should be tagged--either as a warning or an enticement--please mention it to me. I'm not great with tagging, but I'm trying to be better!
> 
> The next update will be on Sunday, February 28, 2016.
> 
> Remember, I love to chat and you can also find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags added: Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Mother-Son Relationship
> 
> If you need spoilers on the first two tags before reading, please see the notes at the end.

Jackson splits his time between living at Danny’s house and sleeping in the den he shares with the coyote. He can’t combine them, so he has _two_ packs, two places to belong. Danny feeds him like he’s a dog, fresh meat with vegetables on a regular basis, so Jackson hunts with the coyote, helping her pull down a deer and letting her gorge herself on enough meat so she won’t have to eat for days.

It’s idyllic and peaceful, until the strangeness begins.

It’s a thrum under his skin the first time he feels it, something that needles his wolf and almost makes him shift back to human to escape the sensation. The coyote feels it as well, whining her irritation and pacing around their den. She snaps at him when he gets close, and he growls in return. He nips at her haunch; if he can’t calm her, he’ll take her running, maybe they can shake it off.

They run the Preserve, scents ignored as they race through the underbrush. It isn’t elegant or quiet, but there are no small animals to disturb, all of them already in motion, trying to escape this sense of heavy anticipation. Jackson needs to go somewhere, _do_ something. He skids to a halt, biting at the coyote to catch her and haul her back just in time before a herd of deer crashes by, thundering along and destroying everything underfoot.

_Stampede_.

He hunkers down while they race by, the coyote whining at him, and he leans into her while she leans into him. As soon as the deer are done, she leaps out, chases after them, a yip calling _hunt_ in her wake.

It’s not the right time. There’s a little voice in Jackson’s head that tells him that, that this is _bad_ , even as his wolf is absolutely positive that if the prey are running, he should give chase, find a small one to take down for his packmate.

And he can’t let her hunt alone.

He howls as he runs after her, puts on a fresh burst of speed to catch up with her, not too far behind the deer. He hears the sound before they see the road, realizes where they are, and he tries to stop them from breaking through the tree line.

He and the coyote skid to a halt on the edge of the road, just outside of where traffic would be, but the deer thunders on, straight into a car.

_Lydia’s_ car.

Jackson’s nose is filled with her scent, with her anger, fear, agitation. He doesn’t stop to listen to what she says—Allison’s with her, and Stilinski’s Jeep is there as well. He simply turns tail and races away, heading into Beacon Hills, the coyote on his heels. He wants to tell her to go back and hide, stay in the den and _don’t come out_. Something is wrong here, something is so very, very wrong. But even if she isn’t just a coyote, she’s like _him_. She’s staying exactly as she is, and he has never seen her change. He’s not even sure she can change anymore, or maybe she’s just some supernatural version of a coyote.

Either way, she’s not going to listen to reason.

She slows as they approach the back property line of Danny’s home, whines at him to stop. She sits down hard on her haunches, just out of view of his house, and barks sharply when he enters the open space of Danny’s yard.

He turns back to look at her, momentarily lowers his head, then sits back again, ears pricked up. His tail thumps the ground, and he whuffs twice, then yips. _Go home_ and _I’ll be back_.

He doesn’t know if she understands, but she huffs and grumbles, and turns to walk away. He hopes she’ll be safe.

#

Jackson scratches on the door roughly, then sits back on his haunches and howls, short and loud. He hears the heartbeats inside—Danny and his parents, two even with sleep and one wide awake and hammering in a familiar cadence, footsteps approaching the back door.

It’s yanked open, a flashlight pointing out. “Kula!” Danny’s voice is sharp. “This is _not_ the time for this.”

Jackson opens his mouth and ends up yawning, yipping in frustration. This isn’t going to work.

“Get in here.” Danny pulls the door wide, hisses in irritation. He ruffles Jackson’s head on the way by, but Jackson can feel the tension in the touch, knows he isn’t likely to be fed or given a bed to sleep on tonight. He’s lucky Danny didn’t just close the door in his face.

He can’t do this, not as a wolf.

Desperate times, and desperate measures.

He sits down on his haunches and ducks his head, shakes it as he wills the change to come over him. It hurts after all these days, aches deep down in his bones like whatever is calling to him out there is making him resist his humanity. When it comes, it strikes sharply, bowing his body and leaving him sprawled out on the floor, chilled and gasping for air, pain like lightning bolts lancing through every muscle.

“Fuck.” It’s the only word he’s got, the air punched out of him by the pain.

“Jackson?” Danny sits down on the floor with a thump, and Jackson presses himself to hands and knees, then back a little more until he’s kneeling.

His throat hurts like he’s been screaming, and he’s cold now. He rubs at his arm as if he can warm himself; it’s strange to feel human skin. “Yeah,” he says carefully, trying the words on and being certain that English still works. “Yeah. It’s me. I’m a werewolf.”

Danny’s breath shudders, and Jackson anchors himself in the tripping beat of his heart. “What…?” Danny shakes his head, pushes himself back on the floor, putting space between them and Jackson almost whines in frustration. Danny holds up a hand and Jackson stops, mid-motion, about to move closer to Danny.

“No,” Danny says, and he sucks in a tight breath. Jackson can see the tension, can hear the way his breath wraps around each beat of his heart as if he’s trying to calm himself. It’s a familiar pattern, and he nods as Danny stares at him.

“Breathe,” Jackson whispers, and Danny does. Jackson holds his gaze, and inhales, waits for Danny to echo him before he lets the breath slip out. He’s done this before, when Danny almost couldn’t breath at all, his own chest crushing him, before surgery was able to fix the problem. Jackson breathes with him, waits for his heart to slow from rapid-fire to a steady fast beat.

“How…?” Danny fails at the question, his hand moving through the air, starting at the top of Jackson’s head and ending somewhere around his folded knees.

“Werewolf,” Jackson says again, voice low and intense, less rough as he becomes accustomed to the human shape. “I need to talk to you.”

There’s a moment of hesitation before Danny’s features relax and he blinks, the tension in his body fading as Danny accepts this, takes it in like he understands it and moves on, using logic to get past the illogical. “You need to get upstairs before we wake up my parents,” Danny says.

“It’s not that late,” Jackson points out, and Danny just gives him a _look_. Jackson holds his hands up in capitulation, then pushes to unsteady feet. “Fine, upstairs.”

Danny’s gaze rakes over him, and he shakes his head. “You can borrow a pair of sweats.”

“Wolves don’t need clothes.”

“You do while you’re human and in my house.” Danny takes the stairs quickly, and Jackson follows behind him, knowing exactly where not to step in order to avoid the squeaky step. He’s been here so many times in his life, but it seems strange this time.

Which might have to do with the fact that he’s naked and wearing a dog collar.

Jackson reaches behind his neck for the buckle of the collar, trying to work it loose without seeing it. Danny stops him with light fingers against his. “Don’t,” Danny says. “You’re going to need in when you change back.” Danny throws a pair of sweats at him, then sinks down to sit on the bed, watching him.

Jackson would ask why Danny thinks he’s going to change back, but the thing is, he’s right. Jackson has no intention of staying human once this conversation is done. He drags on the sweats and they hang low and loose on his hips, pooling slightly around his ankles since Danny is taller than him. He spreads his hands, all too aware that he is wearing only sweats and a leather collar. “There. Satisfied?”

“Not really, since my best friend is standing in my room telling me he’s a _werewolf_ and it’s pretty fucking obvious that I’m one of the last people to be hearing it,” Danny tells him. “Does your _mother_ know?”

Jackson takes a step back, hackles rising in confusion. “My mother?”

Danny reaches into the drawer beside his bed and pulls out a phone, tossing it to Jackson, who catches it easily. “Your mother left that with me. Said she figured you’d show up here sooner or later, since you’d broken up with Lydia. You should call her.”

Jackson drops the phone on the bed, not even wanting to touch it. “Yeah, well, I’m sure she’d love that, but we didn’t exactly have the best talk when she left. Or I left.”

“What the _hell_ is going on?”

The thing is, now that he’s here, Jackson isn’t sure where to begin. And from the way Danny’s looking at him, he’s not sure how much of it he needs to say. “What do you need to know?” He sits slowly, taking the space next to Danny on the edge of the bed.

“Are you living as a wolf?”

Jackson laughs, because out of everything, that’s probably the most ridiculous thing, and here Danny is, accepting it easily. “Yeah. I’m Kula. He’s me.” He touches the collar. “Haven’t you ever wondered why he doesn’t sniff at your crotch?”

“I already know you love me.” Danny shoulders him, and for a moment Jackson thinks that maybe everything’s going to be just fine. “Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

“Shit got complicated, and I didn’t want you getting hurt.” Jackson remembers the fear vividly, the worry that he could actually harm Danny as the kanima, warning him to stay away. “I almost died, then I did die, and Danny I—” He trips over the words, because he can’t say them, can’t make himself say it out loud.

_I killed people_.

His gaze drops and he leans forward, elbows on his knees, head bowed and staring at the floor.

A hand falls against his back, warm and fingers spread. “It’s okay. You can tell me the details when you’re ready, Jackson. But we’re going to talk about this. It has to do with McCall, doesn’t it?”

Jackson nodded. “It has to do with a lot of things. And I think it’s getting weird again.”

“Weirder than my best friend sleeping in the woods with a coyote?” Danny says dryly.

“It’s just sleeping. She’s my pack.” Jackson stands and stretches, pushing at the collar that feels strange against human skin. “She’s like me, I think, but I’ve never seen her change.” He turns to face Danny, hands on his hips. “Something’s going on out there. We can feel it, like this undercurrent that makes my skin itch. When it starts up, I just want to run, and we did, but it didn’t make it any better. And it’s not just us—not just werewolves or werecoyotes. It’s all the animals. There was a fucking stampede tonight, and a deer crashed into Lydia’s car.”

It says something that Danny doesn’t even question that Jackson was near Lydia, just furrows his brow in concern. “Is she okay?”

“McCall and Stilinski were there, and she had Allison with her. She’ll be fine. I didn’t exactly stick around to act like Lassie and go for help,” Jackson grumbles. “She doesn’t need me. But she does need a new car.”

“And you think this is…?” Danny’s voice trails off, leaving room for Jackson to fill in the supernatural.

“I don’t know, what it is,” Jackson snaps. “But I don’t think it’s normal. Not when every animal in the Preserve is wired and on the prowl, and they’re running into roads and into cars. And it affected me and the coyote, so that’s everything in animal form, whether it started out as an animal or not. It’s just lucky that the others can’t transform completely, or everyone would be going nuts on the full moon in a few days.”

“Others? And they can’t?” Danny reaches for a notebook and pen. “Okay. Let’s get the important information down, then we can start looking into how we’re going to figure this out. If you insist on sleeping in the woods—”

“In a cave,” Jackson corrects him.

“In a cave.” Danny gives him a look. “If you’re going to insist on acting like a wild animal, and visiting while pretending to be domesticated, then we need to make sure you’re safe. So tell me everything I need to know. Who’s involved, who can be at risk, and what you’ve seen. We’ll approach this scientifically and figure it out.” He grins. “Rumor has it that Harris wants us to do research on unique scientific subjects. Maybe I can kill two birds with one stone.”

“I am not your science project,” Jackson grumbles.

“I’m taking AP Physics, not AP Bio,” Danny counters, and at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter anyway. Jackson trusts Danny; that’s why he’s here. He knows Danny has his best interests at heart, no matter what he might say, and that’s why Jackson’s willing to spill his guts.

He starts talking, ignoring the way he can still hear the coyote yipping and calling to him from outside, and he doesn’t stop until he’s told Danny everything he knows.

#

Jackson wakes into the too-early morning when an alarm goes off and Danny slides out of bed. “First day of school,” Danny murmurs, and it’s almost too strange a concept for Jackson. School is something human and far away from where his mind is. He waves one hand, grabs the edge of the sleeping bag, and burrows down inside of it, cold inside this human skin.

By the time he wakes again, Danny is gone and he hears the door slam as Danny’s parents leave as well.

He pushes the sleeping bag off, untangles his legs and manages to get to unsteady feet. Two legs feel strange now, and he wonders if he should just escape as the wolf, go run free again.

But there’s a phone on the nightstand, and he can’t stop looking at it. The phone his mother left with Danny. The phone that he’s supposed to use to call her.

He sits down and picks up the phone, turns it on, halfway surprised that it has a full charge. It makes him wonder if Danny’s been putting it on the charger periodically, trusting that somehow, some way, Jackson was going to walk back into his life. Jackson snorts, because he’s pretty damned sure Danny didn’t expect just how weird that was going to be when it happened.

He cradles the phone, brand new with no apps and only two phone numbers in the contact list: Danny, and one in London labeled _Mom_. There’s a text dated from just after they left, still sitting there, unread.

_Call me. I know you don’t want to talk to me now, and maybe you’ll never be human again. But I will always love you, Jackson. You are my son, the child of my heart, and I just want to know that you’re safe._

She uses those words like they are so simple, and Jackson knows they aren’t. Nothing’s been right in his life since he was young, and adding _this_ has only complicated matters.

Still. She raised him. Maybe she deserves better than seeing him disappear into the woods.

He inhales roughly, sits on the edge of the bed as he touches the contact information to open up the details, then clicks the button to dial. He raises the phone to his ear in time to hear it clicking through to ring, and he rubs at his face, bites his lip while waiting. Maybe she won’t be there. Maybe she’ll be too busy, just like always. Maybe she really doesn’t care.

“Jackson?” She’s breathless, her heart ramped up so fast he can hear it through the phone, and it twists inside his gut.

“Hey, Mom.” He doesn’t know where to go after that, so he just listens to the way she moves, the heavy sound of a chair scraping and a body falling into it. He recognizes the sound of her toeing off her heels, of ice clinking in a glass. Her heart slows, steadies, but she stays silent, and Jackson wonders which one of them is going to break it.

“You’re alive,” she finally says.

“Yeah.” He tugs at a thread in the comforter on Danny’s bed, just barely stopping himself before he pulls hard enough to make a rip. “Been a wolf, slept in the woods. Danny thought I was a dog, so he was feeding me.”

“And he just happened to give a dog a phone?” There’s disbelief in her voice and maybe amusement; she never did let him get away with most of his shit.

“I told him last night.” Jackson doesn’t want to go into the details of why. He doesn’t want her to worry half a world away, and he doesn’t want her to demand again that he come to London. “How’s Dad?”

“Working,” she says, and there’s a moment of silence where he can imagine her expression as she marshals her thoughts and tries to decide what to tell him. It’s a familiar routine, where she pretends they can hide the problems behind a pretty veneer, and Jackson lets them as he learns from them, takes the lessons to heart. “His new job is busy. Thankfully he has a good assistant who takes care of him and reminds him to eat.”

Jackson translates that as _she’s young and pretty and they might be fucking_. He makes a noise of irritation, and his mother responds with a small soothing sound.

“And you’re… safe? Happy?” she asks.

“Yes.” He can lie to her so easily like this, even though he can still feel the thrum of _something_ under his skin. “I’ve got a safe place to sleep in the Preserve, and like I said, Danny’s helping me out. Making sure I don’t fall prey to wild animals. Besides, I’m the best hunter out there.” If his tone is a little dry, it’s only because he lets himself show the emotions that she won’t understand. She never needs to know the part where he was used to kill; let her believe it’s only about need now.

“Oh, Jackson.”

“I always liked venison.” He manages to strike just the right tone, and she laughs out loud, heartbeat startled. He can hear her smile when she inhales, and he lets himself breathe as well, relaxing. “I should go,” he says.

“What about school, honey?”

“Wolves don’t go to school.” The words come out quickly, pushed between them like a wall. “Mom, it doesn’t matter. If I decide I’m going to get out there, have a career, then fine, I’ll deal with it. But right now… right now I need to be in the skin that feels right. And that’s not this one. Okay? Just… I’ll tell Danny to keep in touch with you. Call you. And he’ll let you know that I’m okay.” He draws a deep breath, speaks before she can. “I’m not sure I’m going to be human again to talk to you any time soon.”

He hears her inhalation, gives her a moment to speak, and when she doesn’t, he whispers, “Goodbye, Mom,” and presses the button to end the call.

Jackson drops the phone back on the nightstand, then fishes around on Danny’s desk to find a piece of paper. He passes by a list of pros and cons about Brandon and writes in big letters _con: he’s an asshole_ across the whole thing and leaves that on Danny’s pillow. Then he grabs a blank piece of paper and writes a quick note asking Danny to check in with his mom periodically, she knows about the whole wolf thing, and leaves that under the phone.

He skins off the sweats and drops them in the laundry basket. In the hallway, he pauses to look in the mirror, touching the collar at his throat. It’s a touchstone like this, a reminder that the wolf isn’t far away, resting just beneath his skin. And it’s a reminder that Danny is his friend—will always be his friend, even though Jackson’s a bigger ass than anyone Danny’s dated.

He pads downstairs, naked and barefoot, and opens the backdoor. He hears the yip the moment the door squeaks open, then bends down to find the key under the mat, carefully locking up before he replaces it there. When he falls to his knees and lets the change come over him, it feels like coming home. He meets the coyote at the back edge of Danny’s lawn, and together they race toward the Preserve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tag Spoilers:** _Anxiety_ \- Jackson feels anxiety which is much like the panicked deer running and animal anxiety exhibited in the start of season 3a. _Panic Attacks_ \- Danny experiences a minor panic attack which harkens back to when he had trouble breathing before his ribcage was fixed.
> 
> Hello, and welcome to Sunday! We're on the third chapter, and LOOK we have Jackson speaking again! Now the rollercoaster ride can truly start. Thank you all for the wonderful kudos and comments on the first two chapters; I love you all! *blows kisses*
> 
> For anyone curious about progress on the story, 15 chapters are drafted and betaed so far, and I project there will be about 23 more (that's subject to change as I write). I am currently guessing this thing will top out around 130k. Whoops.
> 
> The next part will be posted on Sunday, March 6th, hopefully early in the day. I am away next weekend, so if for some reason it is late before I am able to post, I really apologize. Until then, please feel free to come poke me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: More anxiety. See end notes if you need a spoiler explanation.

The wolf can normally sleep at any time, no matter how much he’s already slept, but Jackson can’t seem to find it in himself to rest today. That unknown energy thrums under his skin, leaving his drowsy dozing filled with nightmares. He sinks into restless sleep only to be bullied by the sensation of water in his lungs as he goes under over and over again, drowning in a pool that’s only a few feet deep.

He tries to get his feet under himself, but he’s a wolf, and they can’t touch the bottom. He paddles furiously and goes nowhere, awkward moving through the water on four feet and without hands to cup the water, or feet to kick. When he goes under for the third time, he inhales roughly, coughing on the water and barking it out. He wakes to the feeling of teeth in his scruff, hauling him across the floor as if pulling him from the pool.

The coyote stands over him, blinking down, almost as if she knows what is going through his mind.

Jackson rolls over, shakes himself out, surprised that he’s not drenched from being drowned. He noses at her shoulder, and she leans into him, pressing him down to the floor with her slighter weight. He goes willingly, more drained after resting than he was before he closed his eyes. He wonders if she slept the night before, or if she paced while he stayed with Danny, and he wishes he could reassure her that Danny’s a good person, that he’d never hurt either of them. He huffs a sigh, rubs his muzzle along her ruff, leaving traces of Danny in her scent along with his own, and he closes his eyes again.

It doesn’t help.

He wakes again with his teeth bared, throat echoing with a low growl. He’s on his feet, legs splayed, facing down the snarl of the coyote as she stands with back arched and fur on end. He has no idea what he _did_ , but he knows what he dreamed, can still taste the blood in his mouth, feel it drip from his claws. He swishes his tail and the difference between fur and scales helps steady him, find his center in the here and now.

He whines softly, asking forgiveness.

She stares at him through several more breaths, then lowers her head slowly, takes two steps towards him.

He meets her in the center of the cave, catching her ruff lightly in his teeth, rolling her over in a wrestling match that takes them both to the edge of the cave and ends with mutual grooming. Jackson knows he’s not going to be able to sleep any more, but this is peaceful at least, and lets him be close with his tiny pack.

She catches the collar in her teeth, tugs at it, and Jackson growls. He can guess at her irritation, seeing it as a sign of humanity and domestication, but it’s Danny, and he trusts him. When she tugs again, he snaps at her lightly, not hard enough to hurt, and she whines an apology, lowering her head to rest it against his shoulder.

It’ll do.

He can’t find it in himself to settle down again. There is no part of him willing to relax, to risk napping. He extricates himself carefully, shakes his fur out, and pads to the entrance of the cave. The late summer air is heavy and warm, thick with heat, and he yips once to see if she’ll join him. When she stands by his side, shoulder to shoulder, he makes a curious noise, taps the ground with one foot, and he swears she nods in response. _Run? Yes, run._

He takes off, not worried about starting slow. He darts down pathways fit only for animals, trying to shake the anxiety from his skin, leave the nightmares behind. She dogs every footstep, stays close enough to be with him but not so fast she overtakes him. This isn’t about a hunt, not this time, it’s about a run.

He smells soot and smoke before he realizes where the path has taken them, and he skids to a stop on the edge of a clearing, the burnt house looming over them. She stops behind him, pressed tight against him as she whines, and Jackson makes no sound.

He smells people here. Derek and Isaac, he thinks, mixed with old fire and smoke. He can’t imagine that they’d live here, in this broken down place. It drives Jackson’s wolf mad just to be here, a different kind of anxiety than the one that’s scratched at his skin for days. This is a strange sense of familiarity, as if he’s been here more than once, as if it means something to him. Which is impossible; this place has nothing to do with him other than it belongs to the man who made him this way.

It’s his wolf being called to Derek, that’s all it is. It isn’t familiarity, isn’t something that is a part of _him_ ; it’s just a part of the bite. And a part of Derek, the Alpha who changed him, and who wanted to kill him. The Alpha who bit him and did _nothing_ to prevent him from turning into a lizard monster who killed people.

Jackson wants nothing to do with Derek. He may be an Alpha, but he’s not _Jackson’s_ Alpha, and he never will be.

The coyote inches forward, nose to the ground, lips curled in a silent, snarling grimace. She backs up quickly, whines at Jackson, turns tail, and runs. He whirls around and follows her, chasing through the woods until they are far enough away that they can no longer smell smoke and Jackson feels like he can breathe again.

She sits on her haunches and looks at him, head tilted. Jackson’s sure she wants to tell him something, and is equally certain that he has no idea how to speak coyote and the message is being lost in translation.

She turns her back on him and pointedly walks away, moving at an easy, slow lope. He follows, giving her space until she waits for him to catch up just a bit, then he ends up walking shoulder to shoulder with her, guided by gentle nudges as they twist and turn and reach the edge of town.

There’s a house there, small and old and cast somewhat into disrepair. Jackson smells the coyote’s scent strongly here, knows she frequents this place fairly regularly even if he can’t say why. He ducks his head to say he understands, as much as he can, even though he has no idea why this place is important to her.

But he’ll sit with her here as long as she likes; it’s definitely more peaceful than the old burnt out husk of the Hale home.

They lean together, cast half in shadow and half warmed by the sun filtering through the trees. And it’s good to be awake and quiet, no nightmares taking over his mind. Nothing to bother him, until the moment that he feels the itch under his skin, knows that the world is turning upside down around him again.

There’s a crash in the underbrush as a deer passes by, right into the open. It’s followed by the rise of crows from the trees, taking flight as a noisy flock. He understands abruptly why it is called a murder of crows, their anxious cry angry and almost violent. Jackson feels the shiver under his skin, catches the whine of the coyote. They glance at each other, and Jackson is helpless against instinct pushing him forward. He takes one step, waits to see if the coyote is with him, and they begin to run.

They make their way from the outskirts into town, pavement rough under their feet. Jackson scents blood and suspect it’s his own, tries to move himself from sidewalks to grass before he keeps going, barreling through hedges and across lawns.

He realizes where they are heading just before they get there, the scent of teenage hormones strong in the air. The coyote skids to a stop and Jackson wrests himself to a halt as well, turning to face her. She has one lip curled, a growl vibrating through the air between them, and she shakes her head. Crows fly overhead, loud and raucous in their path, and Jackson feels the need to follow them, to flee from whatever is behind them. He yips, short and angry, upset with her for risking her life, but she races back the way they came.

He can only hope she’s in the cave later, when whatever danger his wolf scents has passed.

He reaches the field just in time to see the murder of crows dive out of the sky, crash violently into the windows of the school. They fly after each other, each one thudding horribly and crying out in their death knell loud enough that he can easily hear it. He races toward the school, hears glass crash as they fly through the windows and in, and he howls in echo of the students’ screams.

Danny’s in there. Animals are attacking the school and _Danny is in there_.

Jackson’s howl is louder, longer, pulling at his throat. He takes a breath, then howls again, not caring who else hears. He trusts that the one person who needs to know that he’s at the school will hear him, and will know what to do.

Jackson pads carefully to the student parking lot, following the path of scents until he finds Danny’s car. He sits down on his haunches and waits, standing up again when Danny approaches.

“What are you doing here, Kula?” Danny crouches down briefly, tugs at the collar, then smooths a hand over Jackson’s ruff. “Aren’t you a bit far from home?” Danny yanks open the passenger door, and Jackson jumps in, refusing to go into the back seat. He sits on the front seat as if he belongs there, and as soon as Danny is in the driver’s seat, Jackson noses in close, seeking the scent of any injury. He puts a paw in Danny’s lap and one on his chest, licking at his throat.

“Down, Kula!” Danny shoves at him, hands coming away red. Anger dissolves into concern, and he reaches for Jackson’s paw, turning it over. “You’re covered in blood.”

It’s healed, mostly, although Jackson can still feel some of the burn from where his pads wore against the pavement. He whines worriedly at Danny instead, trying to get his point across.

“I’m fine.” Danny clicks his seatbelt, starts the car. “Those crows, however, are not. Was that like what happened with the deer?” He doesn’t look at Jackson, almost manages to look like he’s not talking to him at all as he twists in his seat, looking behind before carefully backs out of the parking space.

Jackson whuffs once.

Danny makes a small thoughtful noise. “And were you affected, too? Because your feet look like you raced here without worrying about your health. Which—given what happened to the crows—bothers me.”

Jackson gives him a sharp look, whines once when Danny smiles slightly.

“I’m only doing what’s right in a situation like this,” Danny says. “I’m taking my dog to the vet.”

#

Jackson gnaws at his paws, licking away the blood and digging gravel out from between the pads. By the time they reach Deaton’s, everything is healed and the only evidence of injury is the blood on Danny’s seat and shirt. Jackson pats one paw against Danny’s shoulder to try to show him that he’s fine, but Danny simply shoves back at him and says, “Get out.”

As soon as Danny has the door open, he tangles his fingers under Jackson’s collar, holding on tight and using it to guide him into the building. Inside the building, Jackson can sense the growing anxiety, whines at the sound of cats hissing in the back, and barks loudly at Danny.

He wants out, and he wants to get out now. This doesn’t feel like a safe space.

Jackson stays seated, shuffling backwards toward the door, still whining softly. He looks up when the door opens, meets the gaze of Dr. Deaton, and whuffs, low and irritated.

“I didn’t know you had a new dog,” Deaton says, and Jackson feels his hackles rise at the sound of his voice.

“He’s a stray, and he’s been anxious the last few days. Thought I’d bring him in and see if there’s anything wrong.” Danny’s voice is easy, but his fingers are still tight enough around Jackson’s collar that he knows he’s not going anywhere without risking hurting Danny, which he’d never do.

Deaton flips up the break in the countertop and motions for Danny to follow. “Just bring him back into exam one and I’ll take a look.”

The room is cold and smells like old urine and antiseptic. Danny releases Jackson’s collar as soon as the doors are closed. Jackson knows he could easily escape—he’s not a dog, after all—but he keeps the illusion going, sniffing into corners before he leaps up onto the exam table and lies down.

“You have blood on your shirt,” Deaton says, beginning the exam. There are hands in places that hands do not belong, and Jackson bares his teeth and lets a low grumble escape, even though it doesn’t deter Deaton. As soon as he sees him reach for a thermometer, the growl grows louder and Jackson barks roughly in warning.

No way. No _fucking_ way is that thing getting anywhere near where he’s pretty damned sure Deaton wants to put it.

Deaton hesitates, the thermometer in his hand. He reaches for Jackson, pulls back when Jackson snaps at his hand.

“Anxious,” Danny says. “I mentioned that. He’s still a bit wild, and yeah, I had a nosebleed earlier.” He rubs at his nose, and Jackson sees a smear of blood on his hand. Jackson inhales, checking to be sure, but that’s all Jackson’s blood. Danny’s just very good at dissembling.

“Very well.” Deaton sets the thermometer aside, and Jackson relaxes minimally. He lets Deaton touch his nose, even licks out to taste his skin, shuddering at the medicinal clean left behind by antibacterial soap. Deaton’s hand falls atop Jackson’s head, and Deaton murmurs something to himself that doesn’t seem to be actual words.

“He doesn’t seem to have a fever.” Deaton finally pulls away, moving to the sink to wash his hands. A fresh wave of the antibacterial scent washes over Jackson, irritating his nose. He blows out in a huff, pushes at his muzzle with his paw. “I doubt he’s ill, just wild. He appears to be part wolf, and I wouldn’t be surprised to discover that he’d been raised in the wild.”

“He took a collar,” Danny points out. “He’s lived with someone before.”

“And he has a pack that has chewed his collar.” Deaton hooks a finger underneath the leather, shows the place where the coyote had gnawed at it. “I wouldn’t expect that collar to stay in place. In fact, I wouldn’t expect this to be a dog that will stay with you. His anxiety is more than likely due to discomfort at living within four walls. He wishes to hunt and sleep outside, and if you know what is best, you will allow him to do so.”

Jackson huffs, the only sound of laughter he can make. He doubts Deaton knows what he is, and he’s almost certain that he has absolutely no idea _who_ he is.

Danny’s expression is dubious. “But he’s not ill.”

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with him, and as an observer, I would say he is in perfect health, remarkably so considering his upbringing.” Deaton opens a cabinet, pulls out a set of vials. “I can give him his shots, if you’d like. Then you’ll be certain that if he does escape, he will not bring any diseases home.”

_No_.

Jackson slithers backwards, falls off the table and onto the floor. He whines sharply, following it up with a warning bark. From the back room, he hears a feline yowl in response, then more sharp cries, enough that it hurts his ears.

The anxiety washes over him in an abrupt rush, digging into his skin like claws to set him on fire. He barrels into the door, hitting it with one shoulder and failing to open it. He switches to the door on the other side—a sliding door that leads further into the building—and this time a push with his shoulder moves it enough that he can get his muzzle through the crack.

“Kula!” Danny yells, but Jackson can’t stop, not now.

With the sliding door open, the sound of the cats is too loud, shattering against his eardrums. He hears them screaming, yowling, fighting with each other. He can’t stay here, can’t be here with that happening. He has to run, has to get away, an even more primitive, visceral sense than before. He races to the front and stops at the lowered gate. He tries to go past it, over it, around it, but he can’t get there, can feel an invisible barrier holding him in place.

“Kula!” Danny’s voice is sharp, ordering him to stay. But as soon as Danny lifts the gate, Jackson darts to the door, barrels into that as well, relieved when the force makes it bounce on its hinges, opening just enough for him to wedge into the crack and lever it open enough to escape.

He runs then, racing down the street, not caring that the pavement rips the pads of his feet again. He just runs and runs, until the thrum under his skin finally fades and he is able to slow, and then stop, panting as he sits by the side of the road.

He hears Danny’s car before he sees it, turns his head to watch it rumbling down the road. When it rolls to a stop and the door opens, he hangs his head in apology.

“Just get in,” Danny says.

It’s still early when they get home. Danny opens the door and Jackson spills out on shaky legs, adrenalin still coursing through him. He stumbles into the house, collapsing just inside the door as the change rushes over him, the wolf fleeing from his system.

He can barely breathe, can barely move, but Danny somehow manages to get him to his feet, and they shakily climb the stairs to Danny’s room. Danny leads him to the bed, and Jackson falls onto it, curling in on himself and shivering, the thrum no longer in his veins. But he can still hear them, can remember the scent of fear—no _terror_ —from the cats. And he can remember hearing their heartbeats just stop.

Danny lies down behind him, curls in close. He wraps an arm around Jackson and spoons him, his body warm and comforting as he whispers nonsense words. Danny pulls a blanket up over them both, wraps it around Jackson and holds on tight, wrapping them both in a shared cocoon.

“It’s going to be all right,” Danny murmurs, mouth close enough to Jackson’s shoulders that the words are a ghost of breath against his skin. “We’ll make sure of it. Everything’s going to be all right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER NOTES: There is another set of anxiety attacks, continuing the theme from early in 3a with the animals. Jackson is present for the birds crashing into the school, and present at the vet with the cats.
> 
> Yes, I'm aware that I think I have a continuity issue at the vet. Whoops.
> 
> Hey, all! Thank you for being here, for reading, for commenting. You are all awesome.
> 
> The next part will be posted on Sunday, March 13th. See you then! In the meantime, please feel free to come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tag (Telluric Currents) but no warnings as far as I know.

Jackson doesn’t expect Danny to hang around and entertain him constantly, but at the same time, he resents the way school interferes in the days. After the incident with the crows and the cat, Jackson is on edge, unwilling to spend as much time in the Preserve with his small pack. He returns there because of the coyote, but she seems just as on edge as he is, taking him back to the small house, where they curl up just out of view and manage to rest in the warmest part of the shade.

He leaves her there when he pads back through town, arriving at Danny’s home before school lets out, shifting to human to let himself in the back door, then curling up to wait in wolf form just inside the front door. He can taste the way Danny’s scent is changing, charged with the odors of unfamiliar people until Jackson can’t smell himself. He rubs against Danny, tackles him and makes sure that Danny smells like him before he’s managed to get three feet inside the door.

It only takes two days before Danny is irritated by Jackson’s imposed routine, shoves him backwards to get Jackson’s nose out of his crotch. “How many times do I have to tell you, you’re not my type,” Danny grumbles. “Especially not when you’re dressed in fur.”

Jackson’s tongue flicks out, nostrils flare as he tastes the air around Danny. He can smell something, new scents and new people, and it bothers him. He crowds back in, rubbing the side of his head against Danny’s thigh, then pushing his nose in where he can catch the vague scent of old arousal and new people.

Not that anyone’s been touching Danny’s crotch; just… it’s a place where scents don’t slough off throughout the day, where new odors cling until Jackson can smell them.

He scoots back before Danny can shove again, shifts back to human and follows when Danny drops his things in the hall and heads up the stairs.

“You reek,” Jackson says. He nudges in close to Danny as soon as they’re in his room, sniffs along his throat, behind his ear, all the places that scents can hide. When Danny strips off his shirt, Jackson catches it, pulls it in close to his nose and inhales roughly, closing his eyes and sorting through the things he recognizes and the things he doesn’t. McCall, Stilinski, Lydia, Allison. Various people he doesn’t care about. A scent of Brandon so faint that Jackson thinks they were in the same room, but not close to each other, and that makes him snort approvingly.

He can sift out the new scents, categorize them and memorize them, not sure why they bother him. He’s about to ask when Danny throws a shirt at him, and it lands over his head, covering his face.

“Get dressed if you’re going to be human,” Danny orders, tossing him a pair of sweats as well, as soon as Jackson tugs the shirt on and can see again. “You aren’t actually a wolf or raised by wolves.”

“And apparently I have someone determined to keep me human,” Jackson grumbles. It still feels better when he’s covered in fur, but he can’t talk that way. He scratches at the collar, running a finger under it to ease where the leather rubs against his skin. When he looks back over, Danny has his head tilted, gaze narrowed.

“It’s been quiet out there,” Jackson says, head jerking to indicate the backyard and the easiest way to run towards the Preserve. “Not restful, but quiet. Nothing making us run against our will since the crows.”

“Every single one of those cats killed itself,” Danny says quietly. “At Deaton’s? I overheard Stiles talking to Scott about it.”

“They say anything else useful, like what Derek’s planning on doing about it?” Not that Jackson trusts Derek to do anything useful.

Danny shakes his head. “Not yet. I’m not sure they’re even aware just how bad it is, or if they’ve put it together, that what happened with the deer is the same as what happened with the crows.”

“I don’t think any of them can shift into a wolf.” Jackson lies back on the bed, arms behind his head as he watches Danny pull out his laptop and books, settling in at his desk. “Which means we need to do something about it.”

“Like what?”

“Figure it out.” Jackson rolls over, switches so his head is at the end of the bed and he lies on his stomach, chin on his hands. “Work your computer magic and start figuring out what could cause something like this. What kinds of things are out there that can drive animals insane. What makes deer stampede? What makes wolves attack randomly? What makes crows and cats kill themselves for no apparent reason?”

“What if that’s what had happened to you?” Danny spins his chair, ends up looking at Jackson. “You were a wolf. What if you’d ended up running into traffic and into a car like the deer did to Lydia? What if you’d decided to run full tilt into a building? It’s not safe, Jackson, not for you or your coyote friend.”

“I don’t think she remembers that she’s human.” At least not consciously. There is the doll, and that one house, but there are no other indications that she even cares that she walked on two legs at one time. “And maybe we’re immune because we _aren’t_ animals, we’re just in animal form. It feels terrible, and I want to run when it happens, but I still have a sense of self-preservation. I don’t feel the need to dive underwater and let myself sink.” Jackson won’t mention the nightmares; he can already smell the concern wafting from Danny at his choice of words, so he grumbles and growls softly. “I’m _fine_ , Danny. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Danny makes a noise that he says he doesn’t believe Jackson, but he wisely lets it go. “You should try to bring your coyote friend in,” he says, turning his back on Jackson so he can get his laptop open and booted up. “I can feed her.”

“She won’t take a collar.”

“She tried to chew yours off.” Danny’s fingers fly over the keyboard. “You didn’t let her.”

Jackson lets that slide, not wanting to look too closely at why it’s so important that the collar stay around his throat. “Maybe we could try to find out who she is?”

Danny’s hands still, fingers splayed across the keyboard, and he glances over his shoulder. “Oh? How?”

“I’ll get you some information and you can look into it,” Jackson says. He hasn’t paid much attention to the house so far, but he figures it has to be important to her for a reason. Maybe the address will tell Danny something. “What are we going to do about the animals in the meantime?”

“I’m going to look into things that could cause animals to stampede or go otherwise insane,” Danny says, rolling his eyes. “Since I’m pretty sure that’s what you demanded that I do. Even though you currently have fingers and can type on your own, not to mention that you know my password and could use my laptop when I’m not here.”

Jackson shrugs one shoulder, rolls back to his knees and quickly strips off the shirt and sweats. He _could_ do the research, but Danny’s better at it. And Jackson would rather be something else at the moment. He lets the change come over him, leaps off the bed and curls at Danny’s feet, lying on them to keep his toes warm.

#

Danny leaves long enough to have dinner with his parents once they get home. Jackson shifts back to human and yanks on the t-shirt and sweats, taking care of sneaking to the bathroom while everyone else is occupied and unlikely to notice that he’s here, then waits for Danny to come upstairs with a something for him to eat. He draws his knees up to sit cross-legged on the bed while he eats, watching as Danny settles back in at the laptop.

Jackson recognizes that expression, the one that says Danny has found something intriguing, something he wants to know more about. The thing about being surrounded by intelligent people—and _yes_ , he is well aware of exactly how smart Lydia is as well—is that Jackson doesn’t have to bother to work. All he needs to do is mention something that sets one of them off down a useful road, then Jackson provides the sounding board and insight, while they do all the work. It’s a fantastic symbiotic relationship that has served him well through the years.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’ve found my research project for Harris.” Danny doesn’t even look up, one hand on the laptop while he transcribes notes into a notebook with his other hand. “I’m going to look into telluric currents.”

“Telluric currents.” Jackson rolls the words on his tongue, comes up empty even though he suspects that Lydia would know exactly what Danny’s talking about.

“Electrical currents that run just below the surface of the earth or bodies of water,” Danny tells him. “They’re probably the root of myths surrounding ley lines—supposedly lines that map the ebb and flow of magical energy. And while magic’s not real, the electrical currents are.”

“Magic’s not real?” Jackson bares his teeth, lets his fangs drop and flashes his eyes. “Danny, I’m a fucking werewolf.”

“There’s a scientific explanation for everything, even you.” Danny pops him on the nose with one finger, and Jackson sits back, muttering. “Telluric currents are created by the geomagnetic conditions, changes in the way the world is arranged, or how human bodies interact with the earth. Some places have more energy, some have less, and it’s possible that what we’re experiencing now is because animals are more sensitive to small changes in the world than we are. It’s very similar to the way that animals sense oncoming storms due to the charge in the air, or know when an earthquake is about to occur. I may be able to find maps of the currents from earlier years, when Beacon Hills was first surveyed, and then compare it to modern conditions. By comparing and contrasting the two maps, we can see whether there has been a natural increase in the energy surrounding the county that could be affecting the animals. By determining that, we should be able to trace it back to the natural source, and look into ways for fixing it.”

“Scientifically,” Jackson says dryly. “Because _werewolves_ are scientific. Danny. I turn into a _wolf_. If that’s not _magic_ ….”

“It’s only magic because we don’t know the science behind it yet,” Danny says firmly. “If I get Lydia involved we can probably—”

“No.” Jackson interrupts with a firm shake of his head and cut of his hand. “Lydia has no idea I’m still in Beacon Hills and she’s moved on. I don’t want her involved.”

“Allison might not be dating Scott anymore, but I’m pretty sure that they’re all still hanging out together somehow,” Danny says quietly. “Lydia might not be involved with _you_ , but she’s involved in the supernatural. She’s probably looking for a scientific explanation of her own.”

“Or she’s ignoring it. She’s good at that.” Jackson is well aware how easily Lydia picks and chooses what to see and what to ignore, even when something is right in front of her. “Unless she talks to you about it, leave her out of it.”

Danny makes a noise, but he lets it drop, turning his attention back to the screen and his notes. “There are ways to detect the minute levels of electrical current,” he says, sounding like he’s talking more to himself than to Jackson. “If I get Harris to approve the project—which he should since it’s a valid geomagnetic survey of natural electricity, completely within the realm of an AP assignment—I should be able to borrow equipment to let us track the currents. I’m guessing we’ll find that there’s a nexus in the Preserve. You’ve been there when the worst has happened, right?”

“Except for the school and Deaton’s place.”

Danny snorts softly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if either of those is a nexus as well. Deaton knows about the supernatural, right?”

“Deaton knows.” Jackson makes a face. “He’s got protections there, something that separates the back room from the waiting area. I couldn’t get out until you lifted the gate.” He hates to say it, but it also has to be pointed out. “Which means he may be a resource. If he already knows about the supernatural….”

“He may not know the geomagnetic reasons behind the current levels of anxiety.” Danny taps a few keys, brings up a new page before he closes his current tab. “But if he has any colleagues who could get us equipment, that would help, too.”

“So what do we do next?” Jackson leans his elbows on his knees, hunches forward. He feels like they have all these ideas and absolutely no forward motion, and it makes the wolf in him unnerved. “It’s a full moon tomorrow.”

“Which means?” Danny swivels in the chair, pins him with a glare. “Do I need to worry about you ripping my throat out when you’re called by the lunar cycle to change?”

“Give me a scientific reason why the full moon forces wolves to change and causes them to lose control over their humanity,” Jackson counters. “And no, I have control. I have better control than Derek expected me to have—it’s why he was willing to let my parents take me to London. I think it’s the wolf. Because I can shift all the way, I can talk to my animal side. It doesn’t feel like it needs to come out. But it does add a fresh level of energy, and new anxiety. It could make things much worse tomorrow, when the moon is at its peak.”

“Find out how the change in moon cycle affects the tides and thus affects the telluric currents,” Danny murmurs, writing meticulous notes. “I’ll need to get those surveyor maps from the library archives. I might need to get them to make copies; I doubt they’ll let me take historic documents out. I’ll email that request tonight and maybe I can pick them up this weekend. We can start with modern maps, create our own pathways on them for the currents. But I need to get this typed up tonight so I can hand in a proposal tomorrow.”

“What’s happening is more important than a project,” Jackson tells him, a hint of a growl showing through his words. “Whatever this is will still _be_ happening, even if Harris doesn’t care.”

“But he has equipment, and we need a way to get the things we’re asking for,” Danny says simply. “We’re still going to look into it even if Harris doesn’t approve the project. This is a failsafe, Jackson. Extra help.”

Jackson sits back, not entirely mollified. “We should go out tomorrow and get started. If there is some interaction between the full moon and the currents, we’ll be able to more easily detect them. We can measure the levels both by location, strength, and date.”

“That’s three factors, not a _both_.”

Jackson kicks Danny’s backside lightly. “Ass. You know what I meant.”

“Fine, yes, we’ll go out tomorrow. Can you shut up now so I can get this done? Just because wolves don’t have homework doesn’t mean that I’m not in junior year hell. Some of us plan on going to college next year.”

College. Right now, all Jackson wants to do is survive. He wants to come out the other side of whatever this is alive, and he wants to feel good in his own skin. He wants to like being human as much as he likes being a wolf. He wants to feel safe in Beacon Hills, and he wants to feel like he could leave if he wanted to without wondering if this place would drag him back. Because right now he feels wound tight, like a rubber band or a spring would snap if he went too far away.

He pulls his knees up, lowers his head to them so that he’s breathing into the dark space he’s created with his body, arms looped around his legs. He closes his eyes and floats for a few breaths, then wonders why he’s bothering when he could be something else.

“I’m going out,” he says, and he strips off the clothes before Danny can object. He melts into wolf form, noses at Danny’s knee then whines at the door in a clear indication of desperate need to go out.

“Kula, _shush_ ,” Danny whispers, and Jackson stops, knowing that neither of them wants to be caught by Danny’s parents right now.

He’s careful and quiet until he makes it down the stairs, darting out the back door as soon as it’s open. It doesn’t matter to Jackson that Danny’s worried about the Preserve. Jackson can’t just sit still right now; he needs to run, and he needs to do something. He howls once, short and imperative, and hears a yip answer back. The coyote meets him minutes later, and together they run beneath the almost full moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so late going up! We were in Syracuse for the Science Olympiad State Championships (which was AWESOME to watch, so glad to have been there to see my daughter's school take top honors) and it was a late night last night, and then the time changed. I want my hour back!!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone reading. <33 I love knowing that there are others who love Jackson as much as I do.
> 
> If you want to chat, feel free to come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tag Added: Scent Marking (no idea how I had missed that one before)

Jackson runs to Deaton’s on four feet, the coming moon giving him too much energy to let him be human longer than he has to be. The coyote stays behind as soon as he leaves, whining at him and yipping loudly when he ignores her. He waits for someone to come out of the building, slipping in through the closing door, and stopping in front of the counter to bark loudly. When no one comes, he barks again, adding a low growl for emphasis.

Deaton walks out of the back, brow slightly furrowed, looking out over the empty space. When Jackson whuffs more quietly this time, Deaton glances down, and both eyebrows rise slightly. “Kula, if I recall,” he says calmly. “Danny Mahealani’s wolfdog.”

Jackson snorts and shakes his head, pawing at the collar. He stands up and pads to the space where he should be able to duck under the gate in the countertop, but the mountain ash border holds him back, and whines loudly, pawing at the ground.

“I see.” Deaton raises the gate slowly, and Jackson ducks through as soon as he can, following the path he remembers into the back area. He avoids the exam room, choosing instead to go into the space where he can hear the animals in the back. He stops, head cocked, listening to the different heart beats and small noises, making sure everything sounds better this time.

“I must say, this isn’t what I expected.” Deaton reaches into a closet, pulls out a lab coat, tossing it over the back of a chair. “If what I believe is correct, you will want that. Or perhaps not, if you’re comfortable with nudity.”

Being naked in front of Danny is one thing; shifting in front of Deaton is not on Jackson’s list of things to do. He ducks his head once in thanks, then grabs the hem of the lab coat with his teeth, dragging it off the chair and padding down the hall to the bathroom with it. He shifts back to human and shrugs into the coat, buttoning it and trying not to think how it makes him look like some kind of homeless science teacher flasher.

And it scratches his skin.

He rubs at the rough space behind his neck, grumbling at the irritation, as he walks back out. Deaton’s eyebrows rise again, nostrils flaring and heartbeat picking up. Jackson smirks at his surprise. “Still not what you expected?” he says dryly. “You aren’t my first choice of people to come talk to, either, but you know things, and I’m not dealing with McCall or Stilinski or Hale. And Lydia’s not getting involved.”

“Does she know you’re still here?” Deaton turns away, bringing out a large bottle of pills, going through slips of paper and making smaller envelopes with prescription notices on them.

“No, and she won’t. Only you and Danny know.” Jackson thinks about sitting down, but the lab coat isn’t long enough to make him comfortable. He rests his back against the counter, crosses his arms and watches Deaton. He still reads as nervous, sending little pings across Jackson’s hyped up wolf senses. Jackson’s rattled him, and he gets the feeling that Deaton isn’t the kind of person who likes surprises. “I wouldn’t have come here, but we need your help.”

“Derek knows more about werewolf physiology and the effects of the full moon than I do, Jackson,” Deaton says mildly.

Jackson rolls his eyes. “This isn’t about the full moon. It’s not about me being a wolf, not directly.”

“Are you safe?” Deaton looks up, meets his gaze.

The question stops Jackson and he tilts his head, looking at Deaton. “I’m safe,” he says slowly. “I’m with Danny some of the time, in the Preserve the rest. That’s what I’m here to talk to you about.”

“You shouldn’t be alone in the Preserve.” Deaton’s attention drops back to the little envelopes of pills and the stack of labels. “There are things happening—”

“We’ve noticed.” Jackson doesn’t bother to let him finish. “I can feel it, when the anxiety starts. I felt those cats die, and I felt the stampede when the animals ran for the school. I was caught up in it the night the deer crashed into Lydia’s car. It’s something that affects animal blood of all kind, and maybe it affects me more because I _can_ shift all the way into a wolf, because it sure as hell doesn’t seem to be anything the others care about.”

“Your ability is fairly unique,” Deaton says quietly. “I’ve only known one person before who could make the full shift to wolf form, and I heard a rumor that her daughter had the same skill before she died. It is rare for any werewolf to be able to take that form, particularly a bitten wolf.”

Jackson waves off the change of topic. “That’s not what I’m here to talk about. I don’t care how I do it, I just can do it. And I’m comfortable with it. What I’m worried about is whatever is causing animals to go insane in this town. I’m worried about my friends, Deaton.”

“Your friends who have no idea that you’re here.”

That’s not the point, and Jackson chooses to ignore the dig. “Danny and I are going to look into the telluric currents in Beacon Hills. He thinks it could be minor geomagnetic changes that are causing the anxiety to rise. But we need equipment, and we need maps. I figured you’ve got all your esoteric bullshit, you could help.” Jackson shrugs one shoulder. “Danny’s going after it scientifically. If you’ve got something that reads magic, that would probably help, too.”

“Telluric currents aren’t magical.” Deaton places the little envelopes into a box, and puts the box and the container back into the closet before locking it. “Magic doesn’t exist, Jackson, not as it does in storybooks and legend. There are no fireballs; there is no killing curse.”

“But there are werewolves, and mountain ash,” Jackson points out.

“They are all a part of nature; some are simply more mysterious to the uninformed eye than others.” Deaton turns back to Jackson. “I don’t have a magical method for tracking telluric currents, nor do I have a supernatural map of ley lines in Beacon Hills. There are, indeed, such maps from history, and there are scientific ways of detecting the minute changes. I might be able to obtain historical survey maps from the days when Beacon Hills was founded. You could begin with those.”

It would help, but it seems like such a small thing to do. Jackson glares at him, tries to bring every ounce of _alpha_ he might have to his personality, but Deaton’s expression remains unchanged. “You don’t think it’s important.”

“On the contrary.” Deaton reaches for a small collar that sits on the counter, picks it up to look at it, the ends frayed and bitten. “I believe that what is happening in Beacon Hills is significant in some manner, but I do not necessarily believe that mapping currents because you believe in magic is the method to help. If you truly want to help your friends, Jackson, perhaps you should be _with_ your friends, as a part of their pack. There is strength in numbers, particularly for those of supernatural origin.”

“You just said there is no such thing as magic, so I doubt our magic multiplies by being together.”

Deaton raises one eyebrow. “I said there is a natural explanation for everything, and this is included. A pack draws its strength from numbers. This pack is already fractured, and they have no idea the damage they do to themselves. And here you are, avoiding all sides equally.”

Jackson huffs, the sound almost the same as his wolf form. “They aren’t my friends.” He pushes away from the counter, crosses his arms. “If you can get the maps, deliver them to Danny’s. I’m not about to walk into the library and answer questions about what I’m doing in Beacon Hills. So don’t push. Official story is that I’m in London and it’s going to stay that way.”

“Hm.” Deaton goes back to the cabinet, finds a notebook and opens it on the counter, reading through one of the pages. “Leave the lab coat when you go; I’ll put it in the laundry.”

Fine. Jackson heads back down the hall, pulls the door to the bathroom closed behind him with a thunk. He shifts rapidly back to wolf, the snap and crack of his bones shuddering through him as he lands on four feet. He leans up to push against the handle so it opens again, and pads out to the front of the place.

Deaton lifts the countertop so Jackson can pass through to the lobby. “Perhaps when you admit that you need them, Mr. Whittemore, you will also understand that they need you.”

Deaton’s voice is soft, but Jackson is absolutely certain that he’s meant to hear the words. He grumbles, whining once at the front door before he goes on his hind legs to push on the handle again, letting himself out.

He doesn’t need them, and they aren’t his friends. He has Danny, and the coyote. He doesn’t need anyone else.

#

If the telluric currents are the cause of the rise and fall of animal anxiety, Jackson should be able to trace them on his own. If he follows the pathways to where he feels more and less anxious, he can remember the locations to tell Danny later, and they can add them to the maps. He shakes his head, paws at his collar to make sure it’s visible around his ruff, and pads along Main Street in Beacon Hills.

He probably shouldn’t be out as a wolf alone, but he hopes that no one calls animal control, and besides, if they do, it’s not like anyone’s going to catch him.

He’s passing the diner when he catches a whiff of a familiar scent, and he shifts direction abruptly, heading for the Sheriff’s station. He settles in outside of it, hunkered down next to a pole as if he’s tied there, and endures the attention of children and others who pass by, determined to tell him that he’s a good doggy.

If it happens to feel good when they scratch behind his ears, no one ever has to know.

The door creaks and he looks up, spotting his quarry. He comes to his feet in smooth motion, lopes idly to meet Stilinski at the bottom of the stairs, nosing into his calf and growling as soon as he has his attention.

“Whoa, boy, shouldn’t you be on a leash?” Stiles lowers the phone in his hand, his other hand out and up as if to tell Jackson to stay away.

Jackson flattens his ears, bares his teeth and lets the growl rise.

Stiles takes a step back, gaze narrowing. “Just like Prada,” he murmurs and for a moment the statement sets Jackson off-balance until he wonders why the _hell_ Stilinski is talking about Lydia’s dog. He growls again, advances on Stiles, pushing him back. He can hear the uncertainty in his heartbeat, smell the sour undercurrent of nerves, but at the same time, Stiles never stops staring at him, never completely backs down.

Jackson barks once, short and sharp, and Stiles just looks at him.

“Every animal in this town is going nuts,” Stiles mutters, pushing a hand through his hair. Longer than a buzzcut now, almost like he cares about his appearance. Jackson snickers inwardly, wondering if Stiles still has that same futile crush on Danny that he’s nursed for the last few years. That’s less likely to get anywhere than the one on Lydia.

As fun as it is irritating Stilinski, it’s also not getting anything done. Jackson lets the tension drop away from his body, turns around and walks away, amused by Stiles’s quiet, confused mutters that follow in his wake.

He avoids attention after that as he lopes through town, seeking out places where the anxiety increases or decreases. But he realizes quickly that the rising sense of the moon overrides everything else. He can control himself, yes, but he still feels it to the point where it blocks out everything else.

Whatever the telluric currents are, they aren’t stronger than the moon.

There’s no point in this when he’s going out with Danny later that night. At least he has some data to offer when he gets back to the house. Since Stilinski’s obviously out of school already, Jackson expects Danny to be home as well, but his car is still missing, while Brandon’s sits in the driveway.

Jackson pauses, head lifted, catches Brandon’s scent out back. He bolts into the backyard, growl rising to a swift series of barks when he finds Brandon with the doormat lifted. The key clatters back to the step, and the mat falls on top of it as Brandon takes several steps backwards.

“Fuck.” Brandon’s hands are up, his heart hammering loudly. “Shit, you scared me. But I remember you—Danny’s new dog.” He reaches into his pocket slowly, brings out a Milkbone.

As if that’s going to interest Jackson.

He bares his teeth, snarls loudly and approaches, ears back. This isn’t irritating someone for fun. Brandon isn’t Stilinski. He isn’t even in the same class. Brandon is someone who’s hurt Danny, who needs to stay away, and who shouldn’t even be thinking of using that spare key.

Brandon moves backward while Jackson goes forward, until Jackson sits on the mat and barks again. Brandon tries one more time to offer the Milkbone treat, but Jackson snaps at his hand, almost catching him, and Brandon pales.

“Fine. I was just going to leave something for Danny.” Brandon pulls a padded envelope out of his jacket pocket, sets it on the railing. “It would’ve been better if I’d left it on his bed, but he’ll find it here, too. Just—Jesus, you’re a mean dog. I didn’t think Danny would get an attack dog.”

Danny wouldn’t. But Danny doesn’t know how to protect himself, which is why Jackson has always been the one to chase off the losers. Sometimes Danny’s just too nice.

And he has a thing for the assholes.

Jackson waits until he hears Brandon’s car start up before he reaches up and drags the envelope down with his teeth. He carries it to the big green trash bin, pushes the lid up with his nose just enough to drop the envelope inside. He’s back on his feet and waiting, tail wagging, when Danny’s car pulls into the driveway.

#

“You can’t be going out.” Jackson hasn’t bothered to dress other than sweats, because why would he? He’s going to be in fur tonight, looking for the currents. Or maybe not, because apparently Danny has a _date_. “We had plans, Danny.”

“Best friend versus blow job.” Danny holds his hands out like a scale, and one slowly rises. “Jackson, you’re a good friend, and we’ll go looking at currents tomorrow, but tonight I’m going out with Ethan. He’s cute, I like him, and he’s not an asshole.”

“Speaking of, Brandon was here.”

Danny stops, his shirt half off. He turns slowly, yanks it over his head and tosses it aside. “He was?”

“You’re better than that,” Jackson tells him.

“You don’t think any of them are good enough.” Danny grabs a fresh shirt out of his drawer, pulls it down over his head. “You’re jealous, Jackson.”

He’s not.

“I’m not.” He growls, feels the way his eyes flash with irritation. “I just think you have terrible taste.”

“And that’s why I love you.” Danny reaches for his cologne, and as he applies it, a fresh wave of Armani layers over the lingering scent in the room. “It’s just a date, Jackson. I was joking about the blow job. You know I’m not going to jump into bed with a stranger.”

Because Danny wouldn’t do that. Lydia owns her sexuality, and so does Danny, but it’s different. Danny likes to get to know them, likes to figure out how they fit together. Jackson’s heard plenty of details about how Danny tries to keep instant attraction under wraps long enough to be sure.

Not that he hasn’t had his moments of rushing things, but Danny likes to date the assholes, not just fuck them.

And he’s smiling. He’s got that little smile that’s half fond and all intrigued and Jackson hates it. It’s not the right time, not when things are going to hell again, and there are dangerous things out there, and he hasn’t even met this Ethan.

“What would you tell me if you were in London?” Danny sits down on the bed next to Jackson. “You’re just being pissy because I’m your only entertainment. It’s me or a coyote, so you’re pissed off that I’m going out. Am I right?”

No.

Yes.

Maybe. Jackson grumbles. “I want to meet him,” he mutters. “Make sure you’re not getting involved with another ass who’s going to break your heart.”

“Bran only bruised it,” Danny says lightly.

Jackson could protest. He’s the one who brought over the ice cream after Brandon cheated on Danny. He’s the one who stayed here and marathoned _Arrested Development_ and ate too much pizza after Brandon.

Then Danny hooked up with him again. It’s like Brandon is a drug, and Danny just can’t stop.

Jackson hates Brandon for that.

He pushes off the bed, shoves the sweats down over his hips and tosses them on Danny’s desk chair. “Leave the back door open enough for me to get out,” he says.

“Shift back to two feet and open it yourself,” Danny counters, gaze dropping down Jackson’s torso before he looks away. “Either shift or get dressed. I am not going to argue with you when you’re naked.”

“That’s because no one can argue with the perfect body.” Jackson spreads his hands, grins at Danny’s eyeroll, then lets the change come over him.

He lies across the foot of Danny’s bed, watching silently while Danny finishes getting ready. The conversation is stalled for now, but it’s not over and it won’t be over until Jackson’s won the argument.

And if Jackson happens to spread out across Danny’s bed, rolling all over it and leaving fur and scent behind, well that’s only logical. It’s what any good dog would do. And if it happens to leave Danny’s room smelling like Danny belongs to Jackson, that’s pretty much perfect, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, darlings! So glad to see you for another week, and I hope you are continuing to enjoy the story. As always, thank you so much for the lovely comments and encouragement; you are all wonderful.
> 
> The next part will post on Sunday, March 27. See you then! And until then, you can find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com).


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Tags Added:** I've added the following tags: Danny/Jackson, Full Moon, and Jealousy. The Danny/Jackson is pre-slash, so settle in and enjoy the ride.

Jackson can only spend so much time on Danny’s bed before the full moon slips under his skin and fills him with an urgency that’s impossible to ignore. He’s still _Jackson_ , still in full control of his mental facilities, but at the same time, the wolf within is anxious and wants to run, to move, to do anything but lie around sleeping.

He reluctantly shifts back to human, pausing when he sees himself in the mirror. He hasn’t been doing any kind of workout, but he can see that his abs are more defined than they used to be, his musculature more established. He flexes once, cocks his head and checks out his own ass, because honestly, who wouldn’t want that? As he turns back to face himself full on, the leather collar stands out against his skin.

He reaches up to touch it, closes his eyes as he runs his fingers along the length of it that crosses his throat. There are ridges where the coyote’s teeth tugged, and when he inhales he can taste a hint of her scent mixed with his own sweat and leather. There’s also a little bit of Danny, if he seeks it out, seeping into the collar from the bed and the room, and that’s what gives him comfort in this form.

His hand falls away and he goes downstairs naked and lets himself out the back door, closing and locking it carefully before he drops to his hands and knees, shifting on the way down so that he lands on paws and is padding away as soon as the change is complete.

It’s funny how easy it has become, how natural it is to seek this form. It’s easier to become the wolf than to become the boy, and he’s pretty sure that says something about him. He’s also pretty sure he should care what that is, but he doesn’t, not now, not with the moon riding his back.

The coyote is waiting for him in their den. For a moment he has the mad thought that he should shift in front of her, show her who he really is and encourage her to come out and talk as well. That maybe they can talk to each other about the desire to be the wolf and coyote more than human, because she would understand.

Or she might just run away, and he would lose his pack and his den in one moment. It’s not a risk he’s willing to take, not even with the strength of the full moon behind him.

He presses deeper into the den, crowding her in her own sleeping space. The doll lies there, tucked to one side as if she has cared for it, made certain that nothing happens. He noses at it, and she growls, the sound louder the longer he lingers over taking in the scent. Talking to Deaton today has only reminded him that he is human, and that if she is human then maybe someone out there is missing her, looking for her.

He understands running away all too well. But at the same time, she’s his pack, and he wants to take care of her if he can. He stores the scent in his mind, knowing that he’ll be able to get it back when he needs it, or that if he runs into it again it will be familiar.

She nips at his haunch and he twists around, leaping past her as she chases him, her yips switching from angry to joyful at the chase he lets her have. They play in the shimmer of moonlight that sifts through the trees, rolling in the leaves and tumbling over and over in mock fights.

When they hear the howls, she goes still at the same time as Jackson, both of them standing with their heads lifted, ears pricked. Out of control werewolves, Jackson is sure of it, just as much as he recognizes the sound of Boyd’s angry howl, and he doesn’t recognize another one with him. There’s a fight brewing, and Jackson doesn’t want to be near it, doesn’t want to risk getting in the way or risk the coyote’s life over it. She looks at him, and they switch direction, avoiding human shouts and werewolf snarls alike. Jackson slides close to her, edges into her hip when she starts to head that way again, growls in warning until they are a safe distance away.

Then he hears the scream.

It’s faint in the distance, but he feels it under his skin, like the moon or the anxious energy but _more_ , something linked to his soul, tugging at his wolf until he’s running before he knows what he’s doing. The coyote keeps pace, her whine confused and her nip at him begging attention, but Jackson can’t give it. It’s the closest he’s been to being out of control aside from when Derek growled at him as an Alpha, and he has no idea what it means.

The high, pulsating whine that begins in the forest doesn’t help, pinging off his eardrums and making his body vibrate. He knows he should avoid the sound, and switches direction, but at the same time, he has to follow the scream, has to make his way there.

He loses track of time in the race, knows that more time has passed than he wants, but at the same time, he’s managed to make his way to the source of the scream, tongue lolling out as he pants, the shrill whine sounding in the distance. The coyote lies down, paws at her ears with an irritated whimper, and Jackson noses at her muzzle, tries to say it will be okay.

She shakes her head, and it is all too human when she backs away from him, cocks her head as if to say _why aren’t you coming too_ when he just stands there.

Because they are at Lydia’s house, and after his mad race to get here, Jackson refuses to leave.

The coyote looks out into the darkness, toward where Jackson can still hear the sharp rhythmic whine in the Preserve, then her gaze shifts to the house and the road beyond, where Jackson hears the distinct sound of Stiles’s ancient blue Jeep rolling toward them. She shakes her head once, then picks a third direction, heading away from all potential danger and disappearing quickly into the darkness.

The Jeep pulls up and Stiles spills out, Lydia disembarking more carefully. She is pale and even from a distance Jackson can hear the thump of her heart, smell the rise in nerves and anxiety. He sits down, then lowers his head carefully to the ground, resting on his paws.

“I don’t know what happened,” Lydia says, her voice sharp and curt the way it always is when something is outside of her control. “I don’t remember, Stiles. I screamed and woke up, and I went out to get something, and then I was at the pool. I didn’t drive there with the conscious thought, _let’s go find a dead body_.”

“I didn’t think you would, since you should know to call me _first_ ,” Stiles grumbles, and Jackson has a feeling it’s a refrain by now, something that’s been said earlier in the night and he’s just stuck on it. Stiles pushes a hand in his hair, inhales roughly and holds it before exhaling. “You’ve lost time before,” he says slowly, and Lydia’s body goes tense.

She fiddles with the keys in her hand. “Yes, I have. When I saw Peter. Before he came back.”

“Could this be something like that again?”

“Peter? Or someone else using me to somehow bring them back from the dead?” She gets the key in the lock. “I don’t know, Stiles. But if I wake up somewhere else again, I’ll call you.”

Stiles hesitates, and in the dark, Jackson growls, unheard. Then Stiles simply nods once and takes a step back, heading to the Jeep and leaving Lydia behind. Jackson hears her quiet sigh of relief, wonders how her mother hasn’t noticed this scene and whether she’s somehow sleeping through it elsewhere in the house.

He darts forward, getting to the door and whining loudly just as she’s about to close it. There’s no answering bark from inside, and Jackson wonders then where Prada is, why it seems as if the entire household is unconscious aside from Lydia. It doesn’t stop him from scraping the frame next to the door, whining again until she opens the door and looks down at him, frowning.

“Who are you?” she asks, fingers gripping the door so tightly that they’re white with red around the edges. “ _What_ are you?”

He nudges the door with his nose, opens his eyes wide and keeps his mouth shut. Tries to look innocent, although he knows a wolf looks less like a sad puppy than McCall does. Just let him in, to protect her. He won’t hurt her.

“No,” she whispers. “I have had _enough_ strange for tonight. I screamed, my mother is so unconscious that Armageddon wouldn’t wake her up, and I have no idea what happened before I ended up at the pool. I saw a _dead body_ tonight, and now I am talking to a dog. A strange dog that—given the way animals are acting lately—is probably trying to get in here to rip my throat out.”

She touches her side, goes as far as bringing her phone out before she stops. “No. I will not call Stiles to come back because this isn’t anything. It is just a stray dog begging for food, and I am not going to feed it. Go.” She shakes the door, rattling it. When he doesn’t move, she picks up a slipper near the door and throws it at him, yelling, “Go!”

He skitters back, just enough to make her secure enough to slam the door. He can still hear her heart, the low shuddering breath that she takes as she stands there.

“I’m going insane,” she whispers. “It’s really happening this time. There’s no Peter trying to destroy my mind, there’s just… there’s just… I’m nuts. I screamed, I found a dead body, I’m being stalked by a dog. I am absolutely losing my mind, and this cannot happen. I won’t allow it to happen. In fact, I am going to march up those stairs, get plenty of rest, and tomorrow I am going out with friends and getting _distracted_.” He can hear the way her smile lilts the words at the end. “Yes, that’s exactly what I need. A distraction.”

Her heels click as she walks away, retreating up the stairs. Jackson takes advantage of her absence to move closer, settle in on the doorstep. He doesn’t need to get inside in order to protect her; he can keep watch right here.

#

The more time that Danny spends with Ethan, the less time Jackson spends at Danny’s house. Jackson has a feeling that if he sees the guy Danny’s dating, he’s going to bite him out of sheer irritation. He still has time with Danny as they slowly work on mapping the currents, overlaying modern strength on historical maps, but at the same time, Danny is distracted, texting with Ethan or ditching on Jackson to go out on dates.

Not to mention that apparently Ethan has a twin, Aiden, who’s dating Lydia. Who seems to have given up on her one night stand distractions to settle in with another asshole. Jackson didn’t mind the parade of losers that went through Lydia’s bedroom over the tail end of summer and beginning of the school year, but he dislikes feeling like he’s actually being replaced. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

Jackson is irreplaceable. Obviously.

He tries to tail the twins, padding along on four feet, staying downwind out of instinct. There is something about Ethan that sets him on edge, and it has to be more than the way he seems to have fallen headlong into this relationship with Danny, going from 0 to 60 in no time at all. He’s learned the tiny distinctions between their scents, knows that he’s found a trail to Aiden this time, Lydia’s scent lingering far stronger in the air. He follows them both to Lydia’s house, where they sit on her front porch, talking.

Jackson can’t read Aiden’s emotions easily, but Lydia is a bundle of irritation, her lips pursing periodically, lines around her eyes before she smiles and touches Aiden’s hand, slides her own small fingers from his knee up his thigh. When Aiden leans in to kiss her, Jackson growls but Lydia exhales slowly, body easing as she presses against Aiden.

She pulls back from Aiden, glances out and Jackson swears she sees him.He lets his eyes flash, and her head tilts, gaze narrowing.

“Something wrong?” Aiden asks, and Jackson huffs a canine laugh at how high pitched his voice is. He had expected something deeper, more base than pure tenor.

“Only that you are terrible at reading hints.” Lydia squeezes his knee. “Why don’t you come inside? My mother has wine.”

“I don’t drink,” Aiden says, and Jackson suspects he’s lying. What teenager doesn’t take advantage of an open and free liquor cabinet?

“I’m sure we’ll find _something_ to do.” Lydia pushes him through the door, lingering for a moment and looking out across the lawn. Jackson takes a step forward, yips softly, and her gaze falls immediately to where he stands. She doesn’t throw anything, but she does glare at him, flicks her fingers as if to order him to leave.

Jackson drops his head, acknowledges her before he goes.

He doesn’t trust Aiden or Ethan, but at least Danny isn’t going to try to run him off. Lydia knows what she’s doing. Either she’ll fuck him or not. And if Aiden hurts Lydia, Jackson will rip his throat out.

He searches for Ethan’s scent, finds it faint on the breeze as he approaches Danny’s house, a motorcycle in the driveway out front. Ethan’s inside, which means Jackson doesn’t want to see what’s going on, and at the same time, he wants to interrupt it. He very much wants to interrupt it.

He goes up on his hind legs, tries the handle to the backdoor, but it doesn’t turn. He scratches at the door and the frame, whines loudly and then barks to be let in. There’s a voice asking if Danny has a dog—almost exactly the same voice as Aiden—and Danny not actually replying, so Jackson takes care of that for him and barks again, even more emphatically. He head butts the door, feels it rattle from his strength, then footsteps approach quickly before the door opens.

Jackson’s sitting down, ears calm, tongue lolling out, the perfect picture of a pet when the door opens.

Danny’s dressed only in jeans, arousal pressed tightly against the denim. Jackson can smell it on both of them—whatever else Ethan might be, he’s into Danny, he can’t hide that from Jackson’s nose. Not to mention that Ethan’s likewise lost his shirt, but Jackson’s not in the mood for getting up close and personal enough to find out just how aroused he is.

“Kula,” Danny says, and there’s a frustrated note in his voice.

Jackson pushes past him, sits down in the middle of the floor and lets his tail thump against the floor. He shifts his gaze to Ethan, lifts one corner of his lip in a curl as he growls low in his throat.

“Dogs usually like me.” Ethan stands behind Danny, one hand wrapped around him, possessive against his chest. He looks past him to Jackson, and where Danny can’t see, Ethan’s eyes flash red. Jackson can feel the way his body wants to respond but this is _not_ his Alpha and Jackson refuses to give in despite the way he can feel the shiver of power under his skin. Instead he averts his gaze and growls louder, baring his teeth.

“Yeah, well, Kula’s not your typical dog.” Danny pulls away from Ethan, tangles his hand around Kula’s collar and pulls it just tight enough for Jackson to feel. “He’s chased off my ex more than once. He doesn’t really like anyone other than me.”

“You could put him back out.”

Danny laughs. “Yeah, well, he’d tear the door down, and I’ve already fixed it once. My mom’d kill me if I let him do it again. If Kula wants to be inside, then he’s inside.”

“So you’re throwing me out because of your dog.” Ethan doesn’t say it like a question, and Danny laughs again, letting go of Jackson and stepping back into the open circle of Ethan’s arms.

“Not exactly. I need to do my homework, too. And I need to finish that workout you interrupted.” Danny sinks into the kiss Ethan offers, and Jackson coughs, a low rasping bark, because he does not need to watch this.

Jackson stands and pushes past them, making sure to shove his shoulder into both Danny and Ethan on the way by. He finds an abandoned bowl of popcorn in the living room and shoves his face into it, spilling most of it on the floor and eating a few kernels just for show.

“Kula.” The name is a groan on Danny’s lips. “Ethan….”

“No, I get it. Dog comes first.” Ethan smirks. “Text me later. Maybe we’ll find a way to finish what we started.”

Oh God no. If that’s happening, Jackson is sleeping in the den.

“Yeah.” Danny walks Ethan to the door, and by the time he’s back, Jackson is crouched naked in the living room, scooping up the popcorn he spilled. He hands the bowl to Danny, and raises an eyebrow.

“Just say whatever you’re going to say.” Danny takes the bowl and drops it on the counter in the kitchen, then heads upstairs. “And put on pants.”

“I don’t like him.” Jackson drops on the bed. “I get that you like him. Trust me, I am aware of exactly how much you like him and how much he likes you; the living room stinks of teenage hormones. But you can’t trust him, Danny. He’s lying to you.”

“Why?” Danny yanks off his own jeans, switching to sweats that do absolutely nothing to hide the slowly dying boner. “Did you hear his heart skip?”

“He’s a werewolf.” Jackson leans forward, grabs Danny’s wrist. “He flashed his eyes at me, because he thought I was a dog and he expected me to roll over for him because he’s an Alpha. You can’t trust him.”

“You’re a werewolf who is a wolf more often than a human and could also probably rip my throat out,” Danny points out. “And yet, I trust you.”

“That’s because we’re friends. We’ve known each other since we were tiny.”

“And I’m dating Ethan.” Danny’s voice has a note that Jackson recognizes. He doesn’t bring it out often, doesn’t remind Jackson that he’s strong enough to just say _no_ when Jackson pushes at him. But this is one of those times where the discussion is closing, and Jackson knows that there is nothing he can do to reopen it. “Let it go, Jackson,” Danny says.

Jackson makes a noise because Danny doesn’t get it, and Jackson wants to protect him. He comes to his feet, standing behind Danny as Danny settles into his chair at his desk, laptop booting up. Jackson touches the back of Danny’s neck, lays his palm flat and wraps his fingers around as far as they go. He can feel Danny’s pulse in his neck, and he slowly breathes through it.

“What are you doing?” Danny is completely still.

“Leaving my scent on you,” Jackson mutters, because he’s not going to stop. “If you’re going to be an idiot and take the risk of dating an Alpha werewolf that we don’t know, then I’m going to make sure he knows you’re not alone.”

“And when he says something about the werewolf in my life?” Danny retorts. “What about that?”

“He won’t say anything.” Jackson’s sure of that. He doesn’t know the twins, but he’s sure they’re both lying for a reason. If Ethan hasn’t told Danny the truth yet, he doesn’t think it’s going to come out in bed any time soon. “It’ll make him think before he does anything. It’ll make sure he knows someone will be out for blood if he hurts you.”

Jackson slides his hands down Danny’s bare back, makes sure to touch every inch of exposed skin. Danny’s head falls forward, and Jackson drags his hands back up, threads his fingers through Danny’s hair, spreads his scent there as well.

“Get dressed,” Danny mumbles.

There’s a fresh musk in the air, and Jackson smirks. “Why? Distracted?”

“Fuck you.” Danny swats at Jackson’s ass, harder than is really called for, and Jackson takes a step back. “Did you ever get me that address you were going to get?”

It’s an abrupt change of subject, but Jackson lets it go because calling attention to the shift would mean making Danny look at him. And right that second, Jackson doesn’t want Danny to turn around, doesn’t want him to see that maybe Jackson _should_ get dressed. Should be hiding behind clothes.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, shifts his ass until he’s comfortable, then tells him the address. As Danny’s fingers slide over the keyboard, Jackson says quietly, “Don’t do anything illegal. I don’t want you getting arrested for this. You’d be tried as an adult this time.”

“I won’t.”

“I mean it.” Jackson’s voice is firm, the new conversation letting him regain control. He rubs idly at the collar, thumb sliding along the leather. “Use Stilinski. He likes to try to use you, and this time he can probably get the information you need out of his dad’s office.”

“Yeah, well, Stilinski and his dad are busy.” Danny brings up pages for information, easily bypassing the subscription only requests for reports to get at the information he wants. “People have been dying.”

“It’s Beacon Hills.” The statement unnerves Jackson more than he’s willing to let on. “If people are dying—not just animals—you shouldn’t be going out alone.”

Danny turns just enough to look at Jackson, both eyebrows up. “When I’m not with you, I’m with Ethan, who someone tells me is an Alpha werewolf. I think I’ve got protection covered.”

That’s really not an argument that makes Jackson feel better. “And if Ethan’s the one killing people?”

“He’s not. Neither is Aiden.” Danny twists away again to look at the screen. “And you should stop lounging around on my bed rubbing your naked ass against my sheets. Put on pants.”

“You’re just scared you’ll start to like the view.”

“Still not my type.”

Jackson snorts and decides it’s in his best interest not to answer that one. Instead he shifts back to Kula and rolls over, shedding fur on the bed before he sprawls across it, taking up as much space as one wolf can. Danny mutters, but doesn’t argue the point, and Jackson figures he’s won this particular argument, at least for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter to those who celebrate, and welcome to another Sunday to those who do not. I'm happy to see you all here! Things are moving right along, and just so you know, I've finalized drafts through chapter 22 so we're set through mid-July at this point. Woohoo!
> 
> Thank you to everyone for your lovely comments and for being here and reading. Love you all!!
> 
> The next part will be posted on Sunday, April 3rd. Until then, you can find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	8. Chapter 8

“You’re not going to believe the day I had.” Danny comes in after school and throws his bag in one corner of the room, flops onto the bed next to Jackson and turns toward him, burying his fingers in his ruff. Jackson nuzzles his cheek, presses his nose against his throat and licks out to taste Ethan on his skin. It disturbs the wolf, leaves him growling as Danny glares at him.

Jackson shifts fluidly back to human as he pulls away, making a face. “Other than spending half your day in the boiler room with Ethan?” he asks.

“Pants,” Danny says, and Jackson just tugs the blanket over his hip rather than bothering to dress. Danny rolls his eyes, ends up on his back, arms pillowed behind his head. “The only bright spot in the day was Stilinski.”

“Oh?” Jackson figures this has got to be good. “Did you get around to asking him to get you the information behind that address?”

Danny waves a hand, erasing that thought from the air. “I’ll find out if there are any police reports attached to the address, don’t worry. I’ve already got a name—Henry Tate. He lives there alone. Give me time and I’ll get you more, I don’t need Stilinski for that.” He smirks. “Although I could’ve used that as an excuse.”

“For what?”

“Stilinski’s looking for someone to punch his V-Card.” Danny rolls over to his side, elbow crooked, leaning his head on his hand as he looks at Jackson. “Apparently the people dying have been virgins. He and Scott talk loud even when they think they’re being quiet. On the other hand, I don’t think anyone missed him yelling that he needs someone to sex him right now.” Danny grins widely. “So I volunteered.”

Both of Jackson’s eyebrows go up. “Should I be expecting a flailing virgin to come through that door any second? I thought you weren’t telling him whether you found him attractive or not.” Because it’s not like it hasn’t come up. Jackson swears that Stilinski asks every other day, if not more.

“I was joking.” Danny falls to his back again, stares up at the ceiling. “I’m dating Ethan; I’m not going to screw around with Stiles just so he can punch his V-Card.”

“And if you weren’t dating Ethan?”

Danny shrugs one shoulder, not meeting Jackson’s eyes. “Maybe? I don’t know. He’s not bad looking, and he’s probably enthusiastic. Just think about that mouth. Or those hands.”

Jackson shudders because just thinking about it brings up bright, vivid imagery of Stiles and Danny together. “No thanks, I’d rather not think about it. You can keep your Stilinski fantasies to yourself. Besides, he’s not enough of an asshole for you.”

“Jealous?”

Jackson doesn’t dignify that with an answer.

“Besides, I thought he was getting something. Either that or he’s just packing an extra large dick and trying to be prepared. Considering he had an XXL condom in his pocket.” Danny snorts. “Which fell on the floor in the middle of Economics. Coach congratulated him.” The smile falls away, his scent turning worried. “Someone died again today, Jackson.”

“Not Stilinski.”

Danny gives him a dark look. “Do you think I’d be joking about his virginal ass if he was dead? No, not Stiles. Besides, it’s not like you care.”

“I give a shit.” Jackson protests because he’s supposed to. And if it were one of the people he knew, yeah, he’d care. Even if he doesn’t like McCall, he doesn’t want to see him dead. There’s a difference between animosity and murderous and he hopes he’s left the latter behind. He pokes at Danny’s chest, just to irritate him. “Hopefully that was as bad as it got today?”

“Only one person died, yeah. Not bad for a day in Beacon Hills.” Danny goes back to staring at the ceiling. “Coach called us fatasses and sent us out on our cross country run, and Isaac beat up Ethan.”

Jackson tries to read Danny’s posture, his scent, but it’s closed off, almost masked. “And?”

“Ethan didn’t tell me.” His voice drops low, a little flat. “I heard Isaac talking to Scott about it later. They were both there, Aiden too. Isaac punched Ethan, broke his jaw, which was fine by the time I saw him when we were all at the dead body. And don’t say Ethan or Aiden killed the kid—since they were busy having a werewolf pack fight at the time, they couldn’t have.”

“They could’ve done it earlier.” Jackson’s pretty sure that Danny’s thinking with his dick on this one. “I hate to agree with McCall and company, but if they don’t like Ethan and Aiden, then I’m agreeing with them.” He doesn’t trust an Alpha werewolf sniffing around his best friend without mentioning the fact that he’s furry. Secrets don’t bode well for a relationship; he should know.

“Lydia’s still dating Aiden.”

“Lydia’s taste is as suspect as yours.”

“Yeah, we both like you.” Danny’s foot pokes at Jackson’s. “It’s that thing for assholes.”

Jackson inhales, tastes anxiety on the air, frustration and sorrow. Danny’s relaxing, his posture easier, sinking into the bed, and his scent is slowly growing more obvious. “You’re still upset.”

Danny’s smile is wry. “Well, yeah, there’s more. Harris rejected my project.” He points at the bag. “It’s all in there. It was a great proposal, and he called it pseudoscience. Which means now I need to come up with another final project for that class. You’d think they’d give us a break. The teachers can’t be that oblivious about what Beacon Hills is like.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to stop mapping the currents,” Jackson points out. Danny’s driven, and Jackson can’t blame him for trying to kill two birds with one stone, but at the same time, this is important enough that Jackson doesn’t think they should just let it drop.

“Are you still feeling it?” Danny rolls over, nudges Jackson in the ribs, right where it tickles. Jackson grabs his hand, holds on while Danny smirks. “Seriously,” Danny says. “Are you still getting all anxious when you’re a wolf?”

Sometimes. But it’s not the same. He hasn’t been getting that urge to stampede with all the woodland animals, hasn’t been feeling the same itch under his skin. “No,” Jackson says slowly. “But I don’t believe it was just a passing thing, either. Are you telling me that you really think all the animals in Beacon Hills going crazy at the same time is a coincidence?”

Danny’s silent in return, so Jackson shoves him backwards, rolling his eyes when Danny refuses to go. Instead Danny lifts one finger to Jackson’s collar, hooks it underneath and tugs. Jackson feels heat build in his cheeks and glances down at the bed. “Your point, Mahealani?” he mutters.

“You aren’t just any animal.” Danny rolls off the bed, standing only briefly before he falls into the desk chair, sets it to swinging back and forth. “And according to you, neither is your coyote, and you were both affected. But McCall’s pack and Hale’s pack weren’t. So it might not be a coincidence, but I’m not sure it’s something we’re going to figure out, either.”

Jackson’s jaw sets because he’s _positive_ this is important. “I think we should still look into it. And if you’re not going to, then I will. There has to be something going on in this town that’s making things crazy. Because I know this time it’s not me killing people.”

“Do you think that finding out who is will erase everything that happened while you were the kanima?” Danny asks, straddling the chair, arms leaning against the back. “Because you don’t need to do that, Jackson. That wasn’t _you_. That was you being controlled by someone else.”

“And I’m the one who became the kanima in the first place,” Jackson growls. He throws off the sheets, untangling his feet so he can get out of bed, stalk across the room. He wants to drop to all fours and let the wolf take over him, but he also wants to defend himself, to explain, to make Danny understand. “They told me what to do, but something in me wanted to do it.”

“Something in you wanted to please them,” Danny counters. He pushes off the chair, sends it gliding on casters across the floor as he takes two short steps, bringing him close to Jackson. He comes in close enough that Jackson has to look up, forced to look up when Danny hooks a finger in his collar again and holds him there, keeps him from backing away. “It’s not something you have to fix, Jackson. That’s something they have to atone for. All you have to do is be you. And you’re okay. You’re not out of control, you aren’t going to kill anyone.”

“And I’m still going to find out what the fuck is going on in Beacon Hills,” Jackson says, because fine, maybe that’s all true. And maybe there’s a piece of him that’s gone limp and boneless, barely managing to stand on two feet while Danny has him held here: a piece that’s shuddering under his skin, and he forces himself to meet Danny’s gaze, glare back at him, let his eyes flare a bright killer blue. Jackson inhales roughly, lets it out slowly, and unclenches a fist he hadn’t realized he’d closed so tightly. “With or without you, Danny, I’m going to find out. I’m going to figure out what made the animals anxious, who’s killing people, and why there’s an Alpha werewolf sniffing around your ass.”

Danny’s jaw sets, his finger jerks roughly, tugging on the collar before he lets go, hand falling away. “Has it occurred to you that _maybe_ Ethan just happens to _like_ my ass?” he asks sharply. “That not everything is a fucking conspiracy around you trying to make you miserable? And speaking of guys who like me, I talked to Brandon today after English. Did he leave something for me? He said my dog wouldn’t let him in the house when he came by.”

“He’s not your boyfriend and doesn’t belong in your house now,” Jackson grumbles.He backs away now that he’s free, settling his naked ass on the bed and yanking the covers over his lap. “You know he wasn’t good for you.”

“That’s my decision to make.” Danny follows him, one hand up like he’s going to tap Jackson on the nose. “I’m with Ethan. It doesn’t matter what Brandon gives me, that’s not changing. I’m not cheating on Ethan, I’m not getting back together with Brandon, even if he leaves me tickets for a concert that maybe I would have used with _you_ , you idiot. But even if I want to break up with Ethan and get together with Brandon, that’s _my_ decision, not yours. I don’t need you to protect me from either of them. If you want to focus on saving someone, then focus on Lydia.”

“Lydia?” Jackson rolls his eyes, stares at the ceiling. “You trust Ethan with you, but you don’t trust his twin with Lydia?”

“No, I mean Lydia was part of the weirdness today.” Danny settles back on his chair, turns his back on Jackson. “She showed up in band. Just sat there like she was meant to be there, but she was drawing in her notebook.”

“Lydia never doodles.”

Danny glances at him. “I know. But she was drawing this tree, in pen. And it was good. Really good. But I’m not sure she even realized she was doing it. She acted like she just woke up when I checked on her. I don’t even know what class she was supposed to be in, but it sure as hell wasn’t band.”

Losing time. Again.

It strikes Jackson sharply just how familiar that is. How much it seems to happen, that people play with their minds. The kanima. Peter and Lydia. The anxiety coming over the animals. And now this. Things that seep under the skin and change who they are when they’re not looking. “What if it’s all the same thing?” he says slowly. “What if it’s all mixed up together—Lydia losing time, the animals, the anxiety. Even the killings.”

“What do virgins have to do with Lydia losing time?” Danny lets the thought end there, but he doesn’t have to point out that Lydia’s not a virgin. Neither is Jackson, not by a long shot, or Danny.

So maybe it’s not just virgins. Stilinski could be wrong; it wouldn’t be the first time.

“There’s something going on,” Jackson grumbles.

Danny’s fingers slide across the keys, the tap-tap strangely soothing to Jackson’s ears. It’s a familiar rhythm, and he likes the sound of it in the background. “I have homework,” Danny says quietly. “And I have to get a new project proposal put together for Harris. And we’re going to that away meet which is going to kill an entire day traveling there and back, so I have to get ahead.”

“You could bring me. Service dog,” Jackson says idly, and Danny laughs.

“I don’t think Coach would go for it. He’s already been ranting about how he can only afford a very small bus, and we’re going to have to be cozy.” Jackson’s not looking but he can hear the way Danny’s voice changes, assumes that he’s rolling his eyes. “I’m glad Ethan’s going,” Danny continues. “He and Aiden are completely involved in everything. Classes, sports. They aren’t up to anything, Jackson, not any more than McCall is, or you would be if you were there. Maybe they just want to be the best, too.”

_You like him more than me_.

It’s an unexpected thought, and it punches through Jackson, exhaled on a grumbling sigh. “I don’t miss school,” Jackson mutters, and they both know it’s a lie. But Danny doesn’t call him on it, and when Jackson shifts back to four-footed and curls up on the floor, lying across Danny’s toes, Danny just reaches down and runs his fingers through his ruff for a moment, letting him know everything’s okay before he goes back to his work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to be so late posting this today; we had to run right out the door this morning to get errands done, but that's over now and I'm about to settle in to get some writing done. Shorter chapter this week, but it'll ramp right up again next week. Thank you to everyone for reading, telling your friends about this story, for commenting. You are all awesome! The next chapter will post on Sunday, April 10th. Until then, you can find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	9. Chapter 9

_Aiden’s not on the trip_.

Jackson reaches out for his phone when it buzzes, holds it in the air over his head to read it. He’s lying on his back in Danny’s bed, comfortably naked since no one else is home. _Maybe he’s staying to go out with Lydia_. He sends the text and is half waiting for Danny to call him out for being jealous. Which he’s not.

_Lydia and Allison are behind us. They think they’re being subtle. Stiles and Scott are talking about it. They think they’re being subtle too._

Jackson snorts at the response, because that pretty much sums it up. He wonders how Stilinski and McCall ever thought that no one would overhear them talking about werewolves in the middle of the halls at school. He half wonders if Danny had already heard them and just decided to ignore it until Jackson showed up as proof, but he’s not going to ask. There’s no point in going backwards now, only forward.

Jackson rolls over, the mixed scent of him and Danny rich in the sheets. He smoothes out a wrinkle, smiles at the way it smells like both of them. _I get why Allison’s there. Why is Lydia there if Aiden isn’t?_

_That’s what I’m wondering. Scott doesn’t look so good._

Huh. That’s never a good sign, in Jackson’s book, at least not from personal experience. On the other hand, McCall’s a werewolf so whatever it is, he’ll get over it. Those two would be in worse shape if Stilinski were the one who was having a problem.

_So why are you so interested in those two losers anyway? Thought you’d be with Ethan_. Okay, so maybe that one does sound like bitter snark, but there’s no way that Jackson’s going to let that go without poking it. Honestly, he half expected Danny and Ethan to take over a back seat and make out the whole way to the meet, if they thought they could get away with it. He’s thankful that at least Danny hasn’t been bringing Ethan here. Not that Jackson has smelled, anyway.

He wonders if Ethan can smell Jackson on Danny. If he knows Danny hangs out with another werewolf on a daily basis. Sleeps with him.

Not that they’re doing anything more than sleeping.

His phone buzzes and he picks it up again, stares at the screen, rolls his eyes. _So his twin outranks you_ he replies to Danny’s comment that Ethan’s been texting Aiden. It doesn’t surprise him that if the twins aren’t together they’re talking. He wonders what it’s like dating a twin, and wonders how Danny and Lydia will handle it going forward, if they’ll see more of each other than they want.

There’s a nasty little twist in Jackson’s chest that says that Danny won’t like being second. That he’ll leave Ethan for that.

_Stiles wants me to find out what Ethan’s texting about_.

Hah. Of course Stiles does. _So just look at his phone_. Danny’s not that rude, and Jackson knows it. But when his own phone goes silent, he figures Danny’s talking to his boyfriend.

And therefore not talking to Jackson.

He really can’t just lie around in bed all day and text Danny. Even though it’s quiet with Danny’s parents out while Danny’s away, lying around naked is getting old. He fishes out a pair of jeans and a shirt and stares at them, letting them hang loosely in his hands. Clothes really aren’t his best option for going anywhere, not right now. Not as Kula.

The phone buzzes.

_Ethan says a close family friend is really sick, might not make it. Also, I think Scott’s bleeding._

Jackson puts two and two together and comes up with a claw-laden _four_. _Do you think they all fought? I told you, Danny. Ethan’s trouble. He’s an Alpha and you should watch your back_.

_No_.

It’s just one word, but it’s plain enough. Damn it.

Fine, if Danny isn’t going to watch his own back, Jackson will do it for him. He fishes through Danny’s desk, comes up with a scrap of paper with a name and number, and quickly punches the number into his phone to send a message.

_Ethan’s dangerous. Don’t let Danny get hurt._

The reply back is almost immediate. _Who is this?_

Jackson laughs, wondering what Stilinski would think if he knew the truth. _Does it matter? I know Ethan’s trouble. I know Danny’s IN trouble being with him. And I know Ethan’s upset because someone’s hurt. And you’re worried about McCall. So just keep an eye on Danny because if Ethan hurts him because he’s angry about you guys hurting his friend, I’m coming after you_.

It’s a hell of a lot of typing with his thumbs, but the threat is worth it. His phone goes silent afterward, and Jackson’s pretty sure all of his texting is done so he throws it on the charger and lets it be. He could call his mom, catch her up on the fact that he’s still alive, but he knows Danny texted her a few days ago. He’s not sure he’s ready for another actual conversation with her, not yet. Not while he’s trying to figure out what’s going on in Beacon Hills and trying to keep his best friend from dating an Alpha werewolf.

He’s going to need help with this plan, and frankly, there’s only one person who knows he’s in Beacon Hills that he can talk to. Besides, if anyone knows what’s going on with McCall, it’ll probably be Deaton.

Jackson goes downstairs, nudges the back door open. He drops to his knees, shakes off his human skin, body stretching as he lets the wolf take over. After he pads through, he noses the door closed, leaving it locked behind him, before he lopes into town.

#

Jackson waits until the door opens and a patron exits so that he can slip inside. Her dog strains at the leash, growling at Jackson, and he flashes his eyes back until it yelps and rushes as far from him as it can get. He noses the door closed behind himself, whuffs loudly, and waits.

Deaton looks down quickly, lifting the gate when he spots him. “In the back,” he says, and Jackson pads quietly to the back. He uses one paw to open the cabinet where the lab coats are stored and drags one out, leaving it on the floor so that he can grab it easily after he shifts back to human.

“Something’s wrong,” Jackson says, holding the coat closed without bothering to button it.

“I surmised as much by your presence.” Deaton’s expression is mild. He crosses his arms, waits for Jackson to continue.

“Scott’s on a trip, and he’s injured,” Jackson says flatly. “And Ethan says that a close family friend is injured and might not make it. Did McCall’s pack fight with whoever is in Ethan’s pack? Because I don’t want any of their werewolf nonsense coming back to hurt Danny.”

“Scott will heal.” Deaton speaks dryly. “But if he is wounded by an Alpha’s claws or bite, it may take more time.”

“ _Was there a pack fight_?” Jackson raises his voice, adds emphasis to the words. There’s a growl that underlines his tone, and he feels claws pricking at his fingertips.

The front door bangs open, and someone yells out. Deaton looks at Jackson, gaze narrowing. “Either go out the back door, or hide,” he says, voice barely audible, even to Jackson’s hearing. His expression is dead serious, more pointed than Jackson can remember him being before, so Jackson nods once.

Jackson has no idea what’s going on, but his hackles are raised, so he simply shrugs out of the lab coat and backs away as he falls into his fur. He glances into the back room, sees the dogs in their kennels leaning away from him and wary. He bites one of the dog beds he sees and drags it into the exam room, pushing it into a far, dark corner, under a table. He climbs into it and curls up, tail tucked in tight against his body, head down and paws across his nose, submissive.

The front gate squeaks as it opens, and footsteps approach. Jackson carefully peers out, refusing to let anyone catch his eyes, avoiding the flash.

It’s the guidance counselor from school. Jackson bites back a growl when he sees her; he hates knowing that someone who has listened to his secrets in confidence was holding back a secret of her own that’s this big. He doesn’t recognize the other woman, but quickly catches her name—Kali—when Deaton speaks. And this explains where Aiden is as he carries the body of a huge man—a werewolf, by scent. They are all wolves, aside from Morrell and Deaton, and Jackson files away that piece of information.

“Fix him,” Kali snarls, as Aiden carefully places the body on the examination table.

“I am a veterinarian, not a doctor,” Deaton points out mildly. “I will do what I can for Ennis, but it will also depend upon his own healing capability. If he is beyond healing, you know there is nothing I can do for him.”

“But you’ll try.” Kali’s grin is sharp, threatening. “You don’t want this war to escalate. You don’t want anything to happen to Scott McCall.”

Because of course everything comes back to McCall. Jackson makes a small noise of irritation, brushes at his nose with one paw. He doesn’t want to hear anything more about how _great_ McCall is, or how he’s Deaton’s protege. Eyes closed, he lets his senses sink into the world around him, trying to figure out if he can escape if he gets the chance, or if he’s trapped himself here.

The scent of blood in the exam room is almost overwhelming; it’s difficult for Jackson to filter it out and be certain that there are no others here. He can’t hear any other footsteps, although a car draws close, makes the turn into the parking lot and stops. Doors slam, and now there are footsteps.

“We’re at the veterinarian’s?” a female voice says dryly.

“This is more than just an Animal Clinic.” Jackson knows the voice that replies, stifles a growl at hearing Peter Hale and knowing he is so close. “Half the building is made of Mountain Ash,” Peter continues. His voice doesn’t move as he speaks, so Jackson imagines them standing by the car, staring at the building. “I’m not sure how we can get in.”

Jackson’s aware of the rumble of voices in the same room as him, aware of the way Deaton hushes them all as he works. They aren’t saying anything _useful_ , whereas Peter Hale seems to know more about Deaton’s place than Jackson does.

“We could just knock on the door,” the woman says. “Like _normal_ people.”

“Wait.” There were momentary footsteps that stop at Peter’s word. Jackson blinks one eye open, sees Aiden turn away from watching the table to look toward the front of the building, one corner of his lip curled in a growl.

“The Alpha pack is here,” Peter says, voice quieter now. “And they probably know that we are here as well.”

“Hopefully that means that Derek _isn’t_ here,” the woman grumbles. “Stay or go, Peter? We need to talk to Deaton.”

“Stay,” Peter says. “But out of the way. And we don’t go in.”

Footsteps retreat, and inside the room Aiden relaxes and slowly turns back to look at where Deaton is treating Ennis.

“How is he?” Kali asks. She moves close enough to catch Ennis’s hand, fingers tangling, and there’s a rush of worry and affection.

“Just stay right there,” Deaton murmurs. “Let me work. The damage is grave, yes, but I think he will pull through. His healing has begun to help and we are making progress.”

Jackson can scent the wave of relief.

Aiden pulls a phone from his pocket, taps something on the screen, then locks it and puts it back in his pocket. He turns abruptly, head cocked, and Jackson hears the sound of another car arriving and a door slamming. The car drives off, but footsteps approach. There’s tension in the line of Aiden’s body, and Kali keeps her back to the door, her gaze focused on Ennis.

The man who enters is smaller, slighter than Jackson expects, but he can scent the power. He can _feel_ the power rolling over his wolf. This man is more than an Alpha. Jackson fights not to roll over and show his belly, breath shuddering in his lungs.

“Deucalion,” Deaton says. “Your arrival is timely.”

“Of course.” Deucalion steps forward with careful movement, a cane tapping before him. Jackson’s never seen a blind werewolf before, but he doesn’t trust that this one is infirm from disability. “How is Ennis?”

“Unconscious,” Deaton allows. “But he is healing now, and will recover from his wounds. Give him time, and I expect he will be back to full fighting strength for you.”

“I see.” Deucalion touches Kali’s shoulder, and she steps back, releasing Ennis’s hand. Aiden puts an arm around her shoulder, draws her away from where Deucalion now stands next Ennis, hands framing his head.

Deucalion leans in, gently kisses Ennis on first one cheek, then the other.

Then fingers tighten, locking around Ennis’s skull. Jackson hears the heartbeat of the wolf on the table, feels the way his own echoes it, along with the thundering panic of every dog in the kennel. He whimpers quietly, the sound drowned out by the the thick _pop_ of Ennis’s skull caving in, crushed by Deucalion’s fingers.

Deucalion gently lays Ennis back on the table and wipes his hands clean. “Unfortunately, it appears that the injuries were too grave after all, and Ennis will not recover.” He stares at Deaton, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. “Restitution must be made.”

Kali’s howl rings in Jackson’s ear, makes him whine and press back against the wall, trying to escape from it. Aiden wraps his arms around her, drags her with him as they follow Deucalion out of the clinic. Car alarms sound in the distance, and Jackson wonders if Peter and the woman are still there, watching this.

Morrell takes a sheet that Deaton had placed over Ennis and draws it up to cover his face gently.

“Marin.” Deaton’s voice is soft, solemn. “You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“It’s a little late for you to be playing big brother now,” Morrell retorts, and Jackson can see something of Deaton in her features, in the stubborn way that they stare at each other, each refusing to back down.

“They will use you.”

“And you will use Scott McCall.” Morrell’s voice is flat as she shakes her head. “Deucalion is not the only one playing a dangerous game, Alan. Only the future will tell us which path is better. Which path leads to neutrality.” Her fingers lightly graze along the line of Ennis’s hidden shoulder. “Burn the body. I will be back to collect his ashes.”

She stalks out, the gate banging closed behind her as she leaves, and Jackson can almost sense the way the border seals them inside this part of the clinic. He eases out from under the table with a soft whuff, and Deaton looks at him. “You don’t take instruction well,” Deaton muses, and Jackson whuffs. He needs information, and if Deaton isn’t going to tell him, he’ll get it any way that he can.

The howls are gone, although the feel of it still lingers in Jackson’s chest. The dogs in the kennel are barking now, and Jackson is riddled with anxiety. He stretches, head down and tail up, then shakes his fur out.

When the front door of the clinic opens, he backpedals quickly, still exposed in the room, front feet splayed as he watches Deaton walk out.

“Peter. Cora.” Deaton lifts the gate, motions for them to come in. “I should have expected you.”

Cora enters the room first, nose lifted and flared, gaze moving sharply to the body on the table.

“Ennis,” Deaton says, as she throws back the sheet to see for herself.

“Good.”

“Cora,” Peter says warningly. “This is a war, and any escalation—”

“Erica’s already dead,” Cora points out sharply. “They escalated first, and now Derek’s missing. I’m _glad_ Ennis is dead. I’m _glad_ our side killed him.”

Peter sighs, takes a seat in one of the uncomfortable looking chairs at the side of the room. He crosses his arms, stretches out his legs. “We’re here looking for Derek. I don’t suppose my errant nephew showed up here to be treated? There seems to be some belief that he’s dead.”

Derek’s dead, McCall’s hurt, and a werewolf from another pack is dead. Erica’s dead. Jackson whines, and Cora spins to stare at him, brows drawn together tight across her forehead.

Jackson does the only thing he can think of to allay suspicion and rolls over on his back, belly in the air, begging for attention as his tail wags.

If anyone asks, it does not feel good when she rubs his stomach. He lets his tongue loll, refusing to acknowledge the way she rolls her eyes when Peter asks her what she’s doing.

“I haven’t seen Derek.”

Jackson listens with half an ear, focusing instead on getting Cora to scritch behind his ears. She touches the collar and he curls his lip, snarls at her, and she flashes her eyes at him in response. He ducks his head quickly before his own eyes can flash, and hears the satisfied huff as she takes it submission. As if he’d submit.

“If you hear from Derek…” There’s an underlying threat in Peter’s tone, as charming as it is, but Deaton just smiles blandly.

“I will contact you, of course,” Deaton replies. “Derek has a habit of going to people he trusts when he is injured and I do not belong to that list. You might wish to go home so that he can find you.” The words are said as calmly as any other, but Jackson hears the disbelief in Deaton’s voice, the underlying implication that Derek _doesn’t_ trust Peter, and he’s certain that Peter must hear it too.

Cora pats Jackson’s head one more time, then stands slowly. “This is pointless, Peter. We need to find Derek, not stand around threatening old friends of the family.”

When Deaton glances at her, his expression softens. “It’s been a long time, Cora. You do look good.”

She snorts, tone dry. “I look grown up. That’s what happens when you leave for that long and no one bothers to tell you there might be a reason to come back.”

“And I hope you find him.”

It’s a clear dismissal, and Jackson is thankful when Cora and Peter take it as such. He waits until he hears the car doors close and the car pull out before he shifts back to human and takes the lab coat that Deaton holds out for him.

“This is not your war, Jackson,” Deaton says quietly. “And you do not want to get involved.”

“That was Lydia’s boyfriend that carried in the dead guy.” Jackson points at the table. “And his twin is dating my best friend. I’m pretty sure I’m already involved. _Danny’s_ involved and he’s not listening when I tell him Ethan’s the bad guy. I’m right, aren’t I? Ethan _is_ the bad guy.”

Deaton hesitates. “The twins are young, but yes, they are members of the Alpha pack, and they are fighting against Derek and Scott. I do not know what their interest is in either Lydia or Danny, but it may not be good. You would do well to warn your friend to stay away. As for yourself.” Deaton’s hands rest on the table, near the edge of the sheet that lies over Ennis. “You were lucky here today. You should not test the limits of your luck further. Go home, Jackson, and stay out of this war.”

That’s not possible. Jackson knows it’s not possible to stay away, not as long as Danny remains with Ethan. “If you really want me to be safe, tell me what’s going on,” he says softly. He waits for several beats while Deaton says nothing, and in the end, he takes a step back, shrugging out of the lab coat.

He’s not ashamed of his body anymore, or his nudity. He lets the cloth fall slowly to the ground and lets his body melt in on itself at the same time, landing on four feet with a whine that builds into a small howl, and a yip of irritation. If Deaton isn’t going to talk, there is nothing left for Jackson to do but leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being here and reading and commenting! You guys are all awesome.
> 
> The next chapter will be posted on Sunday, April 17th. See you then, and in the meantime, you can find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	10. Chapter 10

Jackson gets one text from Danny telling him that the meet has been postponed and they are staying in a motel overnight. Jackson asks him to call, but there’s no response, and Jackson is left alone in a house that suddenly seems too big and too quiet. He stretches out to sleep as Kula in Danny’s bed, and wakes up naked, spread-eagled across the sheets.

_I need to tell you things_ he texts, and he lies back, staring at the ceiling and waiting.

_And I need to race. Coach is taking our cell phones. Something about not live-twitterpating during the meet._

Jackson rolls his eyes, because _twitterpating_ might be a better term considering how Danny keeps having hearts in his eyes when he talks about Ethan. Jackson needs to find a way to get through to him, but there hasn’t been anything yet that’s worked. He’s tried Deaton, he’s tried finding evidence. He’s not crazy enough to go talk to Peter—he doesn’t want Peter to know that Jackson’s still here. And he’s not going to join in the hunt for Derek; if he’s alive, he’s probably fine, and Jackson can’t think that he’d be any actual _help_.

So he waits. He goes into the Preserve and spends a day hunting with the coyote, then sleeping in the sun. Day passes to dusk, then into full night and he noses at the coyote’s ruff before he leaves her in the cave to sleep. He has no idea exactly when Danny’s bus will be back, but he’s been to enough cross-country meets to guess. He pads into town and stops when he reaches the parking lot for the high school, finding a small space to curl up and wait.

He hears the bus rumbling close, even hears the sleepy chatter of the team and Coach’s shouts to wake up, before it turns into the parking lot. He stands, shakes himself out, watches the bus pull up with Allison’s car behind it. His gaze narrows as the girls get out first, stretching and looking around while the boys on the bus gather up their things.

Lydia spots him and her hand, twisting one long red lock, slowly lowers. “Allison?” Her voice is low. “Do you see a dog?”

Allison glances over. “Yes. Why?”

He can smell the away anxiety gives way to reassurance as Lydia relaxes. “I’ve seen it around before. I was starting to think…”

Allison catches Lydia, pulls her in and hugs her hard. “When you hear things,” Allison whispers. “Listen. I will always believe you, and you are not going crazy. And that? That is a very big dog, and I see it too.”

Only half of that makes sense. Jackson knows now about Peter, about what he did to Lydia and what he made her see. But it almost seems as if Allison is talking about something else, too.

And Jackson never meant to make Lydia think she was going crazy again. He whuffs softly, and her lips purse as she looks at him.

“I’m not taking you in if you’re a stray,” she says sharply. “Besides, you have a collar. Someone owns you.”

“Kula!”

Jackson whines, looking up when he hears Danny’s voice. Danny’s standing by the side of the bus, his duffel at his feet and Ethan by his side. Ethan’s looking down at his phone, while Danny frowns at Jackson. Danny’s gaze shifts briefly to Ethan, then back to Jackson before he points into the parking lot. “Go wait at the car,” Danny orders quietly, and Jackson shuffles a few steps back. Danny jabs his finger at the car. “Kula. Go. Wait.”

Jackson curls his lip, offering a low growl before he stands and makes his way to the car. He can hear Lydia talking to Danny, can hear the story being told of the stray that walked into Danny’s life. He snorts softly, settles in next to the passenger door, head on his paws as he looks back.

Danny’s taking his time with goodbyes, entirely wrapped up in Ethan. A growl grows low in Jackson’s chest, rumbling out as Danny kisses Ethan, lingering over it until Jackson yips angrily. The kiss pauses and Danny turns to look at Jackson. Ethan touches Danny’s shoulder, and Danny grumbles, “Be patient, Kula,” under his breath. Jackson snarls once but he can’t do anything but sit there, waiting, while other cars pull out and Danny continues to linger over his goodbye.

Aiden pulls up on a motorcycle, and Ethan steps back from Danny, fingers lingering on his jaw. “I have to go. Family things.”

“I’m sorry about your loss,” Danny says, pulling Ethan back in for one last gentle kiss. Jackson snorts, rolls his eyes and stands, shaking himself out.

“We need to go.” Aiden’s tone is sharp. “Ethan, come on.”

Ethan grabs his bag, throws it on the back of his own bike and Danny waits while they head out. Jackson realizes that Allison’s car is still sitting behind the bus, and that Lydia stands there with Scott, Stiles, Isaac, and Allison. Her arms are crossed and her expression cold as the twins drive away. Aiden didn’t even stop to say hello.

If Jackson could smirk about just how bad that’s going to be for Aiden, he would. He should know.

Danny grabs his duffel and beeps the car unlocked as he walks over. The trunk pops and Danny drops his bag in, then opens the passenger door so Jackson can jump in. As Danny pulls out of the parking lot, he rolls the window down just enough for Jackson to get his head out, tongue lolling like a dog as they pass by the others. Lydia’s gaze follows him the whole way.

“If you want them to know you’re here, you could just go tell them,” Danny says, his eyes on the road.

Jackson whuffs, shaking his head, because no, he really doesn’t want them to know. He’s happy this way. Free. But he does want to protect the people he cares about, and he sits back, head inside the car, and looks at Danny. He growls softly, yipping once.

“What?” Danny glances over as he pulls up to a stop sign. “Is this about Lydia, Jackson? Or is it about Ethan and Aiden?”

Jackson yips at the sound of the twins’ names, and Danny rolls his eyes, pulls forward and continues driving.

“I’m not going to talk to you when you’re furry. Right now you’re the one most likely to bite me.” Danny stays silent after that until they pull into the driveway. There are no other cars, and no lights in the house; his parents must not be back from their trip yet.

Jackson leaps out of the car as soon as the door is open, whines at the door until Danny opens it and Jackson darts through. As soon as he’s inside and out of view, he shifts back to himself.

“You have to stop dating Ethan,” he says.

Danny pushes past him, duffel knocking into Jackson’s chest on his way by. “No.” He climbs the stairs, heads directly into his room and Jackson follows him, crowding into him once Danny drops the duffel.

“Yes,” Jackson says flatly. “You do. You have no idea what you’ve gotten into. There’s an Alpha _pack_. Deaton wouldn’t give me details, but that makes it sound like they’re _all_ Alphas, and there’s a war going on between their pack and McCall and Derek. And they think Derek’s _dead_.” Jackson jabs at Danny’s chest, feels a surge of elation when Danny actually takes a step back, lets Jackson attack.

“One of them died yesterday,” Jackson tells him. “One of them _died_ , and Peter and Cora came looking for Derek, and Deaton had no idea. Aiden—Ethan’s _twin_ —was there. And the thing is, the one who died? I saw him killed. I saw this werewolf who looks like he’s old, infirm—he’s blind for fuck’s sake—walk in to Deaton’s place and crush this guy’s skull. Like it was nothing. He did it on purpose, to make the war worse.”

“What did Deaton say about it?” Danny strips off his shirt, and Jackson growls softly at the thick scent of Ethan in the air as the shirt is tossed off to one side.

“You smell like you bathed in him,” Jackson grumbles.

“Deaton?” Danny raises his eyebrows.

“ _Ethan_.” The name is a snarl, and Danny laughs as Jackson crowds in close again.

“I showered with him,” Danny corrects him, one hand in the center of Jackson’s chest, pushing back. “And we slept in the same bed. Naked.” Both eyebrows go up when Jackson growls again. “Jealous?”

No. Jackson’s breath shudders in his chest as he tries to control the growl, not to show how angry and frustrated he is. “Worried,” he grinds out. “Deaton thinks you should stay away from Ethan, and he thinks Lydia should stay away from Aiden. He told us to get out of the way and avoid the war.”

Danny finds a clean shirt, tugs it on over his head, and Jackson’s breath catches at the play of muscles, the familiar shape of Danny as it is hidden from view. “I’m not going to stop dating Ethan,” Danny says simply. “I know what he wants, and I know that he’s an Alpha and that it’s dangerous. But that doesn’t change the fact that I like him. And he likes me. He’s not going to hurt me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he told me.” Danny crouches down, digs through his duffel and starts tossing dirty laundry into the basket. Even the clean things that Danny sets aside smell like Ethan, so Jackson crouches down next to him and makes sure those go in the laundry as well. He’s waiting for Danny to clarify, and he nudges into him, shoulder to shoulder.

“What exactly did he say?” Jackson finally asks. They’re both still crouched there, Jackson naked and Danny dressed, and it’s funny how Jackson doesn’t really care about it anymore. It seems normal to be like this.

“He noticed my scars.”

Jackson’s gaze drops to Danny’s chest, even though he’s got a shirt on and the scars are hidden. He’s intimately familiar with them, remembers when they were still bright red slashes on his chest that had barely started healing when he came home from the hospital. He remembers all that time in the hospital—when Danny got the bars in, and when he got them out again. “What did he say?” he asks thickly.

“He asked what happened.” Danny folds the duffel, tucks it into the back of his closet, then falls backwards on his bed. “So I told him, and he asked what if there was a way I could make the scars disappear.”

Jackson feels cold shiver through him. His hands ball into fists as he stands up, takes a step forward. He can stand over Danny like his, can intimidate him. “He wants to change you,” he growls. “He wants to give you the bite.”

“And I said no,” Danny tells him, leaning up on one elbow. “I told him I like my scars. They make me feel like I’m a survivor, and I know I _am_.”

Jackson’s shaking with anger, fists so tight that his claws are starting to poke into his palms. “That’s not _no_ , Danny. He doesn’t even know you know he’s a werewolf.”

“If you keep coming around where he is, he’s going to figure it out,” Danny retorts. “Stop telling me not to put myself in danger if you’re going to stick your own furry neck out.”

“I’m a werewolf; I can take care of myself. You’re _human_ ,” Jackson points out. He leans over Danny, fury making him vibrate, making his eyes flash brightly. “What did he say when you said that?”

“He said he hopes I am a survivor.” Danny lies back, arms pillowed behind his head.

Jackson can’t breathe. He can’t breathe because he knows enough now that he can interpret that, knows that Ethan thinks he’s going to bite Danny anyway. Whether he wants it or not. “He’s going to do it,” Jackson says, voice rough through a throat that’s too tight. “He’s going to bite you, because he just said he’s hoping you can survive it. Because it can fucking _kill_ you. You know that’s what Derek thought was going to happen to me. That’s what he thought _was_ happening to me when I was spewing black goo everywhere. He thought I was going to _die_. Because people _die_ after they’re bitten, Danny, and I am not going to let that happen to you.”

Danny sits up quickly, grabs onto Jackson’s wrists and holds on tight, fingers pressing into his skin. “That’s not your decision,” Danny tells him quickly.

“What if he forces it? Then it’s not your decision either,” Jackson shoots back. His teeth are thick in his mouth, his body shuddering with the force of his fury.

“I’m not going to argue with you when your dick’s hanging out.” Danny twists his grip and Jackson feels the burn against his wrist.

He takes a shuddering breath, stares at the way Danny holds onto him, and closes his eyes. His claws slip away, his breathing grows rough. “I don’t want to lose you,” Jackson says quietly. “I don’t want to risk it. Ethan wants you in his Alpha pack, and you’re not his packmate. You’re mine.”

“Hey.” Danny squeezes Jackson’s wrists carefully, and Jackson opens his eyes to see Danny staring up at him, worried. When Danny tugs, Jackson just stands there, not sure what to do.

“Put on pants,” Danny tells him. “Put on pants and get into bed. It’s late, we should sleep. I’m not leaving you, Jackson.”

Jackson shakes his head, tugs until Danny lets him loose. He closes his eyes and goes to his knees, lets the change wash over him. It’s not pants, but fur seems to be enough as Danny rolls over, gives Jackson room to leap onto the bed and stretch out next to him. Danny curls into him, hauls Jackson in and rests his head on his furry shoulder like a pillow.

“I’m not going anywhere, Kula,” Danny murmurs. “I’ve been your best friend a lot longer than Ethan’s been my boyfriend. I may like him, but that doesn’t mean I’m leaving you behind.”

Jackson whuffs softly, because if Ethan bites Danny, that’ll change everything.

“Kula.” Danny’s voice is low and easy, his fingers threading through the fur at Jackson’s ruff. He strokes him easily and the touch is soothing. Jackson’s eyes float closed, and he makes a low, happy rumble of noise.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Danny says again, voice soft. “You’re my best friend, dude, you know that. But I like Ethan. You never like anyone I date. You hate Bran, you hate Ethan. I know the risks, and I know you’re trying to protect me. I know what to look for, and Ethan doesn’t know that I have any idea. I’ll be okay. Because Jackson? I like him. I really like him, and it’s not like this place is filled with options. You have to learn how to share.”

Jackson would snort at that because it’s not about sharing. It’s about pack, and family, and about how Ethan might get Danny killed. It’s about a war, and it’s about danger. But right now, Jackson’s floating, calmed by the feel of Danny’s fingers stroking through his fur, sliding over his haunch. He wags his tail once so Danny knows he’s listening, presses back against his touch. And he lets the argument go.

#

Jackson pads on four feet out to Danny’s car, waits and barks until Danny yanks open the passenger door so he can jump in. He curls up on the seat, his paws resting on Danny’s backpack, while Danny drives to school.

There’s no reason to be subtle about following Danny, and this is much easier on his paws.

He’ll check in with the coyote another time; right now he’s concerned about Danny and Ethan. If that means spending a boring day watching the school, Jackson’s fine with that. He’d rather make sure Ethan doesn’t unexpectedly decide to induct Danny into the secret cult of Alpha werewolves somehow, than be out in the Preserve running, or napping the day away in the sun.

Jackson spills out of the car once Danny opens the door, shaking himself as he stands on the pavement. “Don’t get in trouble, Kula.” Danny twists his fingers under the collar, tugs sharply once before he lets go. “I’ll meet you back here after school.”

Jackson whuffs once to let him know he’s listening, then slowly pads around the parking lot, investigating the vehicles. He finds the motorcycles that belong to the twins, right next to a smaller bike that smells like Scott McCall. Jackson snorts at the difference between the two.

“You.” The voice is soft, with a hard edge to the word.

Jackson takes a step back from the bikes and turns, sitting down as he sees Lydia looking down at him. Her hair is pulled back in an intricate braid around the crown of her head, and she stares at him, head cocked, eyes blinking twice. He whuffs.

“You’re not a hallucination,” she says matter-of-factly. “In fact, you were with Danny. I saw you arrive with him.”

Jackson whuffs again. She’s only stating the obvious. He nudges forward, presses his nose against the hand she lowers slowly.

“Huh.” There’s a small, slow smile. “I see. Go, then. Dogs don’t belong in school, and if you’re looking for a place to pee, these bikes are not your best choice.” Her fingers are light on his muzzle before she draws away. “You’re talking to a dog like it understands, Lydia,” she mutters under her breath. “At least it’s better than a hallucination. Because that is _not_ happening again.”

She walks away, heels clacking on the pavement, and meets up with Allison at the door. They go in together, and Jackson can scent contentment on the air, followed a moment later by sharp curiosity. His gaze shifts, and he sees Cora watching him from the door. He wags his tail, letting it thump on the ground as he pants, tongue lolling, and she turns to yank open the door and stride inside.

He does _not_ need more attention. Maybe he should stay out of sight for the rest of the day, unless an opportunity presents itself to bother Stilinski. Because that’s always fun.

He sniffs around the outside of the school, catching the lingering scent of the dead crows, and far too many highly packed pockets of teenage hormones. As the sun rises, he hears a yip and pads to the edge of the field to curl up with the coyote, both lying in the sun and watching gym classes come and go. She makes a querulous noise when Jackson’s ears perk up at the appearance of McCall and Stilinski on the field, but he nips her behind the ear and she settles.

It’s companionable, but he doesn’t learn anything useful.

He keeps his ears tuned to Danny’s voice. He’s almost out of range, and he feels lazy in the sun, soothed by the warmth and risking sleep. He stands after he hears Danny leaving the lunch room and heading to class, makes his way back to the walls of the school.

He sees Danny walk into the English classroom and take his seat, talking to one of the other guys. There’s a sharp scent of interest drifting through the open window—not Danny, not the other guy. Jackson has to take his time to filter it out before he sees the way the teacher’s gaze stops on each student as she speaks, lingering when she reaches Danny. She doesn’t seem to call on him more often, or to call him out for leaning over to whisper to his neighbor, but Jackson sees the way her attention remains on Danny more than anyone else. And at the end, she catches him before he can leave.

“Danny, I’d like you to stop by after school,” she tells him. “There’s an issue with your last essay that I’d like to discuss.”

“Sure, Ms. Blake.” Danny gives her an easy-going grin, before leaving, and Jackson knows that means Danny will be even later than expected after school, and probably in a sour mood if his grades are bad.

This is English. Jackson doesn’t think Danny’s ever failed anything in English before.

He wants to go in and sniff around, but he’s pretty sure a wolf roaming the halls will be noticed, even in a place like Beacon Hills. So he bides his time and waits, distracting himself with marking the space where the motorcycles are parked, and since he has to wait for Danny, he finds a safe, out of the way space to sleep again.

He wakes at the creak of Danny’s door opening, and he jumps in the car before Danny can order him to.

“I can’t hang out.” Danny pulls the door shut and starts the car. “I’ll drop you off at home, because I don’t want you running there on pavement and destroying your paws again, but I’m going out. I’m supposed to be meeting up with Ethan.”

Jackson growls, and Danny gives him a look. “Don’t start,” Danny says. “I know, you don’t approve. But I’m being careful and I’ll be fine. We’re going out for dinner, and I don’t think he’s going to bite me in the middle of the restaurant.”

You never know. Jackson grumbles, and Danny rolls his eyes.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll text you later when we decide what movie we’re seeing, and you can decide then if you’re going to hover around, waiting for me to get back.” Danny has a fond smile on his face. “I can take care of myself.”

Not against an Alpha werewolf. But the argument has been rehashed so many times, and Jackson knows it isn’t worth bringing it up again. He shifts into his human skin, leaning back against the seat, his arms crossed, his posture letting his irritation be known better than he could as a wolf.

“I don’t want your naked ass on my seats,” Danny tells him.

“Would you rather it was Ethan’s naked ass?” Jackson retorts, and Danny just grins. Because of course he would, and that’s really not something Jackson wants to think about.

“So what did you bomb in English?” It’s a terrible change of subject, but Jackson has to admit, he really wants to know what finally boggled Danny in one of his easiest subjects.

“I didn’t bomb anything in English.”

Jackson gives him a sharp look. “Then why did the teacher want to see you after school?”

Danny pulls into his driveway, throws the car into park. “She didn’t. I stopped by the gym to grab some things I wanted to bring home to wash, then I came out. I haven’t seen Ms. Blake since class.”

Maybe Jackson misheard. Maybe something didn’t translate through the open window.

He opens his mouth to disagree, but Danny is already getting out of the car, grabbing his bag. “I need to go, Jackson, so if you want to stay in the house, you’d better get your furry ass inside, now.”

His mouth snaps shut because he has absolutely no idea how to broach the subject. Maybe he should’ve been there. Maybe he should’ve gone to see what the teacher wanted. Or maybe it was nothing. “I think I’m going to stay out,” he says, although he shifts back to Kula before he exits the car. He heads around the back of the house, acts like he’s heading into the woods to meet the coyote. He sits there, listening to doors slam as Danny brings things inside, then comes back as soon as he’s changed. The car revs up again and Jackson huffs a quick breath.

He doesn’t relish the idea of chasing a car through town, but he also doesn’t want Danny going out with Ethan alone. So car chasing it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, and welcome to another week of Jackson ranting naked. *grins* Thank you so much for reading and commenting, and DID YOU SEE THE ART??? I was so excited on tumblr to find that dunbaeritto made [this lovely collage](http://tryslora.tumblr.com/post/142706244612/dunbaerrito-first-you-have-to-paddle-like-a-pup) for the story. Kula's collar! The text Jackson sent to Stiles last chapter! Naked Jackson! Danny! Gods, it is perfect, so please, if you're on tumblr and haven't left love already, please stop to see it and leave love.
> 
> The next part will be posted next Sunday, April 24th. Hard to believe we are at ten chapters posted already! I am currently drafter chapter 28 (!!) and the story just tipped over 100k in length overall, so far. I currently expect it to be about 130k total. I think.
> 
> Love to all of you!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHARACTER ADDED: Cora Hale (who I should've added before)
> 
> TAGS ADDED: Hospitalization, Mistletoe
> 
> An explanation of the tags is available at the end, but you can probably guess the canon event involved!

Maybe it is innocent. Maybe Jackson really does have nothing to worry about.

He sits outside the diner as Kula, ears perked for something interesting, but it’s only talk about classes and sports. When Danny launches into an in-depth analysis of the current football season, Jackson tunes out. He’s already heard this particular rant, although he keeps one ear vaguely cocked just in case the subject changes.

He notices the first wheeze and thinks nothing of it. The second comes with a racing heartbeat, and Jackson is on his feet, paws on the window and looking in. Danny leans forward, his hand at his chest in a position Jackson remembers from when they were children, when his rib cage wasn’t strong enough.

Another wheeze.

Danny can’t breathe.

Jackson barks loudly, whines at the door. He tries to sneak in while someone’s coming out, but he’s blocked. He can see Ethan get an arm under Danny, help him stand.

“I’m going to get you to the hospital,” Ethan says, and Danny wheezes again.

They push past Jackson, and when Ethan fishes in Danny’s pockets for his keys, Jackson dances closer, trying to figure out what Danny smells like other than anxiety, trying to figure out what’s _wrong_. He slides back when Ethan yanks open the passenger door, but there’s no way for him to get in the car before Ethan has Danny safely inside the door closed.

He doesn’t think Ethan even notices him there on the sidewalk, or recognizes him as the dog that was with Danny just the other night. Jackson barks again, but Ethan pulls the car out, barely looking for a space in traffic before he goes.

Fuck it all, Jackson’s chasing the car again.

This time he knows exactly where Ethan is going, and he can take short cuts on his way across town, following pathways that a wolf can go while a car has to follow the streets. He arrives at the hospital as the car pulls in, panting as he stares at Ethan helping Danny out of the car, struggling to carry him through the sliding doors.

Jackson can’t go in there, not like this.

He spots one of the clothes donation drop boxes, jumps into it as a wolf and tears open bag after bag until he finds a pair of old sweats and a hoodie. They stink like they’ve been sitting in a basement for years, and like maybe someone spilled old wine, but they are clean other than that, and he shifts into human form and yanks them on, pulling the hood up over his head.

He looks homeless, but Danny’s more important than how Jackson _looks_ right now.

He runs to the door, stumbles through it. He tries to let his gait be loose and awkward, like he’s underfed or drunk. He manages to barge his way through far enough to see Danny bent over, retching in front of Ethan, Scott, and a nurse who he quickly realizes is Mrs. McCall.

“Mistletoe,” Scott says. “How would he have gotten—” He stops, looking at Ethan.

“I didn’t give it to him. Why would I want to poison Danny?”

“Stop arguing. We need to get Danny breathing first.” Mrs. McCall directs the boys to help her get Danny into an observation room, and Jackson follows along, trying to stay unobserved. He leans against the wall outside, shoulders hunched, head down as he listens. He shudders, hands clenched as claws, shivering with every wheeze until the moment when Mrs. McCall helps Danny and his breath eases.

Danny’s going to be in the hospital for a while. Mrs. McCall is calling his parents, while Scott and Ethan talk.

“I have no idea where he got it,” Ethan says. “We were out on a date. Just a date, at the diner. The same place Stiles’s father likes. I’m not going to poison Danny.”

“What about Deucalion?”

Ethan hesitates, takes a small step back. “Deucalion wouldn’t poison Danny, either. I’m the one working with Danny. Deucalion doesn’t care about him or Lydia.”

“As long as you and Aiden keep them busy,” Scott says, and there’s silence after that for a long while. Jackson shifts, glances over to see close they are, and Scott speaks again. “I think you should go, Ethan.”

There’s worry and resolve hanging on the scents in the air, and Ethan shakes his head. “I’m not going anywhere until I know he’s going to be okay. I’ll leave when his parents get here.” A moment’s pause before he adds, “You can trust me with Danny, Scott.”

Scott considers him, and Jackson swears he can hear the wheel’s turning in McCall’s head. “I hope I can,” Scott says, and claps Ethan on the shoulder. “Don’t hurt him.”

“I wouldn’t.”

Scott walks back to talk to his mother at the desk, and Ethan goes into the room with Danny. He pulls up one of the hard plastic chairs and sits in it, Danny’s hand in his. There’s an IV in Danny’s arm, a liquid dripping slowly into it, and Danny looks like he’s asleep.

There really isn’t anything Jackson can do here right now, when he’s not even officially here to begin with. But there’s definitely something he can do elsewhere.

And he doesn’t feel like running to get there.

Jackson takes a deep breath, lets his bones go loose as he pushes the curtain to Danny’s “room” aside. He stumbles in, catches himself before he tumbles into Ethan. The jacket Ethan tossed over a chair, slides to the floor and Jackson goes with it, grabbing for the keys that slip from his pocket. “Sorry,” Jackson mumbles, struggling to get to his feet, taking a couple of tries to get there while Ethan glares at him but doesn’t get up from the plastic chair. Jackson keeps his head ducked, raises his hands. “Sorry,” he says again, backs awkwardly from the room.

In the hall again, he shoves his hands deep in his pocket, keeps his eyes down as he weaves down the hall, staying out of the way of everyone else. As soon as he gets outside, he makes a beeline for Danny’s car, the keys jingling in his palm. He’ll be gone and back before Ethan realizes the keys are missing.

If Ethan is going to sit by Danny’s side while Jackson can’t, then Jackson is going to take advantage of that and take the chance to get to Deaton’s.

#

“You stink,” Deaton says mildly as Jackson walks in. “You don’t have clothes of your own?”

“I was on four feet at the time; it was an emergency.” Jackson makes a mental note to swing by Danny’s house and change into something decent. Shower. Maybe burn these. It’s probably more than they deserve. “The fact that I smell like a wino let me steal Danny’s keys from Ethan.” He jingles them once, shoves them deep in his pocket. “Danny’s in the hospital.”

Deaton’s brow furrows, and he lifts the gate, motions for Jackson to follow him into the back. “What happened?”

Jackson explains as concisely as he can, and as soon as he gets to Danny vomiting mistletoe, Deaton holds one hand up.

“Are you certain it was mistletoe?”

“That’s what McCall and Ethan said.” Jackson shrugs. “Mrs. McCall didn’t seem surprised by it, so she must have agreed. So yes, mistletoe. Ethan claims he didn’t give it to Danny, which means either he’s lying, or someone else did.”

“Where was Danny today?” Deaton’s expression is intent, and Jackson is tempted to say that he’ll trade information. If Danny’s life wasn’t on the line, maybe he would.

“School, then out with Ethan. He was home between, but not for long. And I don’t think anyone at home is trying to kill him.” Jackson shrugs the hood from his head, pushes a hand through his hair. “Why would anyone want to kill Danny? Everybody likes him. I figured if anyone wanted to kill him, it’d be the Alphas.”

“So did I,” Deaton murmurs. “Mistletoe makes it seem more like a sacrifice, but if it was a sacrifice, he would not have survived. I do not believe that the Alpha pack is our only adversary. I recommend that you ensure that Danny stays safe until you can get him home, Jackson. I do not believe that Ethan is his greatest enemy.”

“But why would someone go after _Danny_?” It doesn’t make any sense. No one even knows that Danny knows about the supernatural.

Deaton’s brow furrows, and a moment later his expression relaxes, and Jackson realizes it at the same time.

“The currents,” Jackson says quietly. “It’s the currents. We were on the right track. They mean something. All the anxiety. All of it. It really does mean something, right?”

“I think it might, Jackson. Have you continued the research?” Deaton moves to his desk, searching for something. “You might wish to collect your results and bring them here for safekeeping.”

No. Definitely not. “We didn’t finish it. Harris decided against the project, and Danny’s been spending more time with Ethan.” _Than he’s been spending with Jackson_. He doesn’t finish the sentence, but from Deaton’s look, it’s clear what he was about to say. Jackson scowls, yanks his hood back up. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not like we’re still looking into it.”

“Maybe you should be,” Deaton murmurs. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Jackson rolls his eyes at the clear dismissal. He heads for the door, stopping when Deaton calls out. “Which classes does Danny have at school?”

Jackson lists the classes and teachers, adding, “He said he stopped at the gym to get something after school. I thought he was meeting with his English teacher; I heard her asking him to stop by to talk about an assignment.”

Deaton’s gaze narrows. “I see. Thank you, Jackson.”

Jackson reaches out for a pad of paper on the table, scrawls the number to his new phone. “If you find out anything, text me or call me. If it has to do with Danny, remember that I’m his protection. I’m going to be better about it than McCall or Stilinski could be, because I’m with him. Because he knows I’m here.”

“Of course, Jackson.”

It isn’t agreement, but Jackson slaps the pad of paper down on the table and decides he’s going to take it as such. It’s not like he has much other choice.

And in the meantime, he’s not going to leave Danny in that hospital alone.

#

He stops off at the house and gets changed into a decent t-shirt and hoodie, and a pair of borrowed sweats, then drives the car back to the hospital lot and walks in with his hood up over his head and hands shoved in the pocket. He moves with purpose this time; he doesn’t smell like a homeless drunk, so there’s no point in trying to look like one.

On his way past the nurse’s station, he drops off the keys to Danny’s car, like someone found them on the floor and turned them in. He finds a spot in the waiting area close enough to be able to hear voices in Danny’s room, and he slumps down in the chair like he’s just waiting to be called, or for someone who’s already under observation.

“I’ll drive Danny’s car home.” Ethan’s voice, tired and worn. “I’ve got his keys here somewhere. I’ll just… I’ll have my brother pick me up from your house.” The sound of movement, of fabric rustling. Footsteps. A hand clapping against something, probably Ethan’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it.” The rumble of Danny’s father’s voice, thick with worry. “We’ll take care of getting his car home after this. You should go home and get some rest. Thank you for getting him here in time.”

“Thank Mrs. McCall for saving his life,” Ethan says quietly. “I was scared he was going to die.”

“Our Danny is a survivor.” Danny’s mom, soft and proud. “He always has been.”

“Yeah.” There’s a low sigh in Ethan’s voice. “He said that. Seems like he needs to be around here.”

There’s silence then, and Jackson can imagine the looks. He wonders if Danny’s parents think about how Jackson’s parents left Beacon Hills. He wonders if they think about moving away as well, someplace safer. He wonders if they have any idea just how bad it is here.

Probably not, which is both good and bad.

A few more mumbled exchanges, then Ethan walks by, nostrils flaring but he doesn’t stop to look at Jackson. He has his phone to his ear, and Jackson can hear the ringing, then an almost identical voice answering as Ethan says, “I need you to pick me up at the hospital. My bike’s at the diner.” The sliding door closes behind him, and Ethan is gone.

Danny’s parents are silent, but they’re in there with him. Jackson can hear the beeps of the machines and Danny’s sleep-even breath, and he closes his eyes and relaxes into the sound. His own breath matches Danny’s and he dozes, knowing that any differences will wake him.

When he wakes into the middle of the night, the emergency room is short-staffed and busy. He moves around, listens to people talking about a doctor who never showed up, and tries to stay out of the way as he grabs a cup of coffee from the coffee pot in the waiting room. He’s hungry, but he doesn’t have any money, which is a strange situation for him, and he doesn’t really want to leave in order to go hunt something to eat. It’s not like downtown Beacon Hills is a great hunting ground, either, for a wolf.

He sleeps again, restless as the hospital staff move around him, and he wishes that Danny’s parents weren’t sleeping in his room overnight. He wants to get in there and check on him, especially when he hears Danny’s voice, hoarse and rough in the early hours of dawn.

His vitals are good, and Jackson relaxes at the news. His parents are encouraged to step out for the day, go about their business and let their son rest. He’s out of the woods, but needs to remain under observation, and with some reluctance, Danny’s parents agree. His mother stops at the nurse’s station, asks if keys were found because she assumes Ethan lost them in the chaos, and retrieves the keys to Danny’s car.

As they head out, Jackson rises and slowly walks to the room, slipping inside when no one’s looking.

He pulls aside the curtain from around Danny’s bed and slips in to find Danny staring at him, a table wheeled next to his bed with a tray for breakfast.

Jackson shifts his feet, plants them carefully and shoves his hands even deeper into his pockets. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Danny’s voice is still rough, and he makes a face when he talks. “This is not one of my better days.”

“You scared the shit out of me.” Jackson grabs a chair, sinks into it and tries not to look at the tray of food while his stomach rumbles.

“How did you even know what happened?” Danny asks, and when Jackson doesn’t answer, Danny rolls his eyes. “You followed me and Ethan.”

Jackson nods once. “Obviously I was right. Something’s going on.”

“Ethan didn’t poison me.”

“He said that. And he wasn’t lying.” Which doesn’t mean Jackson likes Ethan any better, but he did at least save Danny’s life. “I talked to Deaton and we think it has something to do with our research into the currents.”

“But no one other than Harris knows that I was doing that.” Danny shakes his head. “And we didn’t find anything useful out. That can’t be it.”

“It’s the only thing you’ve done that might catch someone’s notice,” Jackson insists. “And Deaton agrees. He says there’s something else out there other than the Alpha pack, and he thinks that’s what’s after you. So until we know what that is, and you’re safe, I’m sticking close to you. Because the rest of them don’t seem to have a fucking clue.”

“So you’re just going to sit here. What if someone else comes in?” Danny gives Jackson a look as his stomach rumbles again. “You need to go eat something.”

“Your parents won’t be back until later, and who else is going to visit during the school day?” Jackson slumps down in the chair, arms crossed, jaw set. “I’ll eat later.”

Danny sighs, gestures carefully enough that he doesn’t pull on the IV cord. “My backpack’s over there. My mom brought it last night for some reason, probably because she thought I’d get bored in here during the day if I had to stay. Find my wallet, go get something to eat in the cafeteria, and then you can come back. But if anyone else comes, you have to get out unless you want them to know you’re here.”

It’s tempting to just stay there, to refuse to leave Danny’s side. Maybe if the others knew Jackson was here, they’d know Danny’s protected. Maybe he could scare Ethan off.

“Leave Ethan alone.”

“I’m not going to do anything about Ethan,” Jackson grumbles, because it’s disturbing how well Danny can read him. “And fine. I’m going to go get something to eat. But I’ll be back, and I’m staying today. You can sleep or whatever; I’m still staying.”

He digs through the backpack and finds Danny’s wallet, grabbing a twenty so he can get some food. He brings back a breakfast sandwich and some vegetables and dip as well as chips for snacking on during the day, and a water bottle than he can easily refill. They chat while he eats, and Jackson avoids talking about Ethan or the currents or what happened, sticking to lighter topics, like cross-country and what lacrosse will be like in the spring with a team half made out of werewolves.

Danny dozes more than he’s awake during the day, and Jackson rests as well. If he dared, he’d shift and lie on the bed with him, but with the nurses coming in and out, it’s too much of a risk. As it is, one of the nurses catches him with the chair pulled close and his head pillowed on Danny’s bed while he holds Danny’s hand, and compliments him for taking such good care of his boyfriend.

Jackson’s just about to protest that he’s not Ethan when he realizes that it’s best to just let her think what she thinks. So he grunts, and squeezes Danny’s hand, feels fingers tighten on his even though Danny’s sleeping, and he lets it go.

He hears Stiles’s voice before he catches the sound of Lydia, and he thinks Cora as well. Danny’s still sleeping, but Jackson needs to get out of there before he gets caught. He squeezes Danny’s hand, whispers to stay safe, and he ducks out of the room just before Stiles sneaks in.

He wants to stay and listen, but Lydia is at the nurse’s station talking to Mrs. McCall, and Jackson can’t see Cora. He needs to get out before he gets caught in his human form and recognized.

He can’t go out the ER sliding doors, not with Lydia right there, so he turns and heads further into the hospital. There’s another entrance on the other side of the building; he’ll go there. He keeps his head down and hood pulled up, eyes down as he walks. He doesn’t even see the other person coming until he bumps into her, shoulder to shoulder, and she growls loudly, eyes flashing yellow. He meets her gaze and feels his eyes flash blue in response as she bares her teeth, snarling.

Cora. Fuck.

Jackson curls his lip, growls back, then pushes past, stalking toward the door. He hears her turn and she follows him, too close for safety.

He needs to do something about her. Now.

He stops and spins, grabs her wrist and yanks her into a side room. “I need you stop following me,” he hisses, and she bares her teeth, growling as she wrenches away.

“You’re a werewolf.”

“Obviously.” Jackson rolls his eyes. “And you don’t know me, but that doesn’t matter. I don’t give a shit about Hale or McCall, and I’m not part of that Alpha pack.”

“Why should I believe you?” Cora crosses her arms, both eyebrows arched, and Jackson can see the Hale resemblance. He’s not sure exactly how she fits in, but he sees both Peter and Derek in her mannerisms.

“Because if I could get Ethan away from Danny, I would,” Jackson says dryly. “That’s all I’m here for. I’m here to protect Danny. And if your little war with the Alpha pack gets Danny hurt, that’s when I’m going to come after all of you and rip out your throats.”

She growls, and her claws extend viciously at the ends of her fingertips. Her legs are spread, body dropped into a tense fighting stance, and Jackson has two options: fight or run.

He’s not going to fight in the hospital. It’s time to run.

He lets the shift wash over him in a rush, shaking off his clothes as he falls to four limbs and fur and bolts through the hallways. He rushes back through the ER, hears shouts follow him and Lydia cry out, then he makes it through the sliding door and into the parking lot, and it’s time to run for the woods and disappear.

He’ll be back. And he’s not going to let anyone hurt Danny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS NOTE: The new tags refer to Danny's near-poisoning with mistletoe, and subsequent hospitalization, per canon.
> 
> Thank you all for being here, for reading, for commenting! Love to all of you. I'm almost done with the first draft of the story! But the second half still needs a good bit of work with betaing and editing. I expect that the final length will be 36 chapters and 130k, give or take a bit.
> 
> The next chapter will post on Sunday, May 1st. See you all then! Until then, you can find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com).


	12. Chapter 12

When Danny’s parents bring him home, Jackson is curled up on the foot of the bed. He hears the car doors slam and quickly slides off the bed and noses his way into the closet, waiting while they help Danny up the stairs and leave him in his room. Danny leans heavily against the dresser, pushes the door closed.

“I know you’re in here,” Danny says. “You might as well come out.” He pulls a phone from his pocket and sets it down, music playing from a pair of bluetooth speakers in the room. Jackson doubts it’ll muffle their voices completely, but it sounds like Danny’s parents are back downstairs, so it should be enough.

He pads out of the closet on four feet, then shifts so he can stand on two legs, arms crossed, staring at Danny. “You look like shit.”

“I feel like it too,” Danny grumbles. “But I’ve got the weekend to recover before I’m back at school on Monday.”

“Take another day or two off. Someone tried to kill you.” Jackson approaches Danny carefully, gives him plenty of warning with his body language before he tries to help Danny strip out of his jeans so he can get into the bed.

“That happens a lot around here.” Danny lets Jackson move him around, lets him undo his zipper and push his jeans down over his hips. His boxer briefs slide as well, and Jackson moves to try to keep them in place, but Danny makes a noise. “I need clean underwear.” Danny shimmies, working with Jackson to strip off the jeans and underwear before he stretches and yanks off his shirt as well.

Jackson doesn’t remember making a noise, but he must as he crouches there, and Danny turns to look at him.

“If you can be naked, I can be naked,” Danny says. “It’s not like we haven’t seen it before. Besides. You’re still not my type.”

“I’m an attractive asshole, and a killer werewolf,” Jackson says dryly. “Right now, that’s exactly your type.” He turns his back on Danny as he stands and walks over to the bed, lying face down to hide the fact that watching Danny is pulling him in. Jackson can’t look away, watching the play of muscles as Danny moves stiffly, digging through his dresser drawers to find a clean pair of boxer briefs and a fresh t-shirt. Jackson shifts against the comforter, tries to will his body under control.

“And right now I’m with Ethan,” Danny points out. He moves slowly to the bed, sits on the edge before lying back, arms pillowed under his head.

It’s not a denial that Jackson might be his type. And Jackson’s just enough of an asshole to hold onto that, keep it for the future, because he’s pretty sure that Ethan will be gone someday and Jackson will still be here.

“I am not sleeping with you if you’re naked.” Danny’s hand smacks against Jackson’s bare shoulders, and Jackson shivers slightly.

“I’m not shifting until we talk,” Jackson tells him. “I’ll be furry by the time we sleep. I know you can’t handle being in bed with all of this. Too much to resist.”

“Fuck you.”

“You wish.” The banter is easy and hides the fact that Jackson is still hard and trying not to shift against the comforter. He’s sure he’s leaking just enough to leave his scent, and that’s good. If Danny ever brings Ethan home, Jackson wants Ethan to know that there’s already a werewolf in Danny’s life. Jackson’s not giving up that easily.

Danny’s eyes flicker closed, breath low and still rasping slightly in his lungs. “If you want to talk about something, talk quick. I’m tired.”

“I went to see Deaton while you were in the hospital. We were talking about the currents.” Jackson moves enough to be able to get the comforter over himself, which lets him lie on his side to talk to Danny.

“You told me that, I remember.” Danny’s brow scrunches in an expression of confusion. “I think you told me that. Was I awake them? I also had a weird dream that Stilinski came to ask me about them, too.”

“He came to the hospital, with Cora and Lydia.” Jackson doesn’t want to explain that Cora saw both his face and Kula and could put the two together; Danny doesn’t need more to worry about. “Deaton thinks it’s important, even if you don’t. And I’m starting to wonder if your English teacher might be in trouble too.”

“Ms. Blake?” Danny’s expression twists even more confused. “Why would she be in trouble?” There’s a low, lazy note to his voice, like he’s starting to lose his fight with consciousness. Jackson tugs on the other side of the comforter, helps Danny wrestle himself beneath it so that they are both covered and lying on their sides, facing each other on the narrow bed.

“I don’t know. Why would anyone in Beacon Hills be in trouble?” Jackson says dryly, because there always seem to be more deaths than explanations.

“Because there are people like you and not all of them are good.” Danny reaches out, runs his finger under the edge of Jackson’s collar, and it feels like it’s so tight that Jackson can’t breathe. He wants to lean into the touch, to ask for more of it. “Why Ms. Blake, though?”

“Because she asked you to visit her, and then you didn’t. And I remember the crows. I was there, when they smashed into her window. Maybe whatever’s causing the anxiety is attacking her.” It seems like a logical connection in Jackson’s mind, following the thin threads of information to something that might make sense.

“I saw you.” Danny’s voice is low, let out on a sigh. “You and the coyote. You were watching the school. I don’t think anyone else saw you.” He tugs on the collar, the sharp move at odds with his lazy words. “You need to be careful, Jackson. Someone’s going to figure you out. Unless that’s what you want.”

Jackson’s eyes close as Danny’s hand slides around to the nape of his neck. Danny has two fingers under Jackson’s collar, his thumb idly sliding along Jackson’s jawline, and it’s killing Jackson. He’s hard and aching and there’s no way he’s going to say anything about it. Not now.

He swallows roughly, tries to speak past the lump in his throat. “The only person who can figure me out is you,” he says quietly. “And you sound like you need sleep.” Jackson lets his own touch echo Danny’s, sliding around to the nape of his neck, dragging him close enough that Jackson can lightly press his lips against Danny’s forehead, then lean his forehead there. “I’m going to shift.”

“Make your naked ass furry,” Danny mumbles, hand sliding from the collar and down Jackson’s back.

Jackson shifts before this can get more embarrassing, letting the wolf come over him in a rush. He moves under the comforter, not happy about the weight or heat, but not wanting to lose the contact he can have with Danny. And it’s obvious that Danny isn’t willing to let him go, either, hauling him back like a stuffed animal, pressed against Danny’s chest.

It feels far too good, and Jackson is thankful it’s been a long day, or sleep might be impossible. As it is, he relaxes against Danny and as soon as he closes his eyes and matches Danny’s rough breath, he’s gone.

#

If Danny’s stuck at home, Jackson’s pretty sure he’s safe. The only people he expects to stop by are people that Jackson trusts, and at least in this case, Ethan’s included in that number. So he whines to be let out, leaves through the back door as Kula and isn’t entirely surprised to find the coyote waiting for him at the back line of Danny’s yard. Jackson whuffs a hello, nuzzles her in greeting, and they race through the woods, tumbling over each other and playing for a time.

Jackson nudges the path that they follow until they reach town, and the coyote gives him a dubious look, but Jackson pushes them onward until they reach the school. He swears the coyote rolls her eyes at him as if to say _this again_ but he whuffs and nudges at her ruff, shouldering her as they move toward the school itself.

There are no cars in the lot on a Saturday, and from the silence, not even the janitor is there. Jackson approaches the door, pushes into it but it doesn’t budge. Locked, of course, and Jackson’s pretty sure that being human isn’t going to help him get through. He glances at the coyote to make sure she’s following before he lopes around to the side of the school, nostrils flared as he tastes the air, tries to find a place where there’s a breath between the school’s interior and here. The coyote follows more slowly, her steps wary as she inhales. She makes a concerned noise, but Jackson isn’t worried about this place. It’s the school on a weekend. No one will be here.

The door he needs it toward the back, where kids sneak out regularly. It’s barely latched, and when he launches his weight at it, it bounces and pops open. Jackson wedges himself into the space and holds it for the coyote, then follows her in, letting it close slowly enough that it won’t latch again behind them.

They pad through the school, Jackson following Danny’s scent, lingering where it’s strongest. He pauses in the gym, but there’s nothing strange there other than the scent of lingering hormones and sweat, and the coyote sneezes and Jackson swears she glares at him.

He pushes past her, leads her through the halls toward the English rooms. Their claws click against the linoleum, echoing in the empty space, and the coyote stops before they reach the room. She sits down and whines until Jackson stops as well.

He whuffs at her softly, and she whines again, but he chooses to turn his back on her, pushing through the door into the room he knows is senior English. He finds Danny’s chair, and he finds the chairs where others sit as well, easily identifying the spaces taken by Lydia, Scott, or Stiles. He pads to the desk and lowers his nose, taking in the scent of a woman that must be the teacher. There are no emotions lingering in the air, but it’s been a day since anyone was here, so that doesn’t surprise him.

He does smell something off, something bitter that reminds him of illness, and he backs away from it slowly.

The English teacher _is_ in danger. That’s the scent of the mistletoe that Danny threw up in the hospital.

He doesn’t know how to communicate his urgency to the coyote, but by nudging and whimpering and a few emphatic whuffs he manages to get her into the classroom and smelling the desk and chair. She looks at him when she has the scent, and they race out of the school together, working to pick up the scent again on the outside.

It’s strong in the parking lot, centered around a single space that Jackson figures must be where she always parks. It’s harder to catch in the air after that, but there’s a hint of it lingering, like she had her window open while driving. He glances at the coyote and cocks his head, and she nods before they both start running.

It takes both of them to find the scent and keep it, faint as it is, but working together they manage to trace a tangled path across the town and into a slightly run-down residential neighborhood. Jackson feels an anxious prick across his skin as they head down one of the streets, and he chalks it up to the way it exudes _poor_ , like the people here might keel over and die from lack of money at any moment. When someone shouts at the pair of dogs, Jackson bares his teeth and growls; they’ll never get animal control out here, at least not before he and the coyote are done with their hunt.

The anxiety grows, rolling under his skin, leaving him itching and irritable. The coyote whines, and Jackson looks at her, barks sharply when she catches his teeth in her teeth and sits down and pulls.

It’s not just him.

It’s not just the neighborhood.

It’s that _feeling_ again. It’s the way the place is completely quiet, with few cars and fewer people. Jackson realizes he can count only three children that he’s spotted playing outside, and no adults. There’s no washing on the line, no sound from televisions for a lazy Saturday afternoon. This place is poor, but it’s not _that_ poor. There should be noise and bustle. There should be a feeling of movement, not this ominous, portentous silence that seems to hang over the space.

The coyote nips at his haunch, sits down and refuses to move.

Jackson can’t stop, not now, not when the teacher’s scent is so strong in this space. Not when she might be in danger, and helping her might be the only way he can help Danny.

His skin tickles, itches, and he whines at the sensation while he presses forward. The feeling is matched by a scent that swirls around him, like death waits and things rot quickly in this place. He follows her scent to where it is strongest, and that stench is there as well. It’s wrong, and he can’t breathe because of how it weighs in his lungs, heavy and dull like it could choke him at any moment.

He’d swear that if Ms. Blake is in this house, she’s dead already, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

This doesn’t bode well for Danny, and he needs to make sure he understands. Make sure he realizes that that little bit of missing time in his mind—that conversation that he doesn’t remember—might mean something. It’s possible that someone has intended to harm both Danny and Ms. Blake, and that while Danny survived, she did not.

Jackson needs to tell him.

Jackson backs up quickly, makes his way back to where the coyote waits in the street. She comes to her feet, licks at his nose, shoves her face in his ruff. He breathes in her scent, lets it wash over him and strip away the scent of death that feels like it lingers between his claws and teeth.

When she nips at his muzzle, urges him to run, he does so. He needs to run the decay from his body, then he’ll go back to Danny and tell him what they found.

#

Jackson checks the driveway for cars and finds only Danny’s, then listens for heartbeats to make sure there isn’t anyone else there. He shifts back to human on the back step and takes out the key, unlocking the door to let himself inside.

There’s a hoodie hanging by the door, but Jackson ignores the hint, walking through the house naked. He pauses in the kitchen to grab a couple of water bottles from the fridge and a box of Girl Scout cookies from the cabinet, then heads upstairs.

Danny’s in his room, still wearing just a t-shirt and boxer briefs, like he hasn’t bothered to shower that day. His hair is sticking up in all directions, and he’s leaning with his head on one hand, fingers in his hair making the mess worse. He glances up at Jackson, then back down at the paper spread across his desk.

The map of the currents. It’s a brand new map, made of several sheets of printed paper and stuck together with tape, rather than the one large map he had before. It’s bigger than last time, and Jackson sees Danny’s painstaking notes across it, carefully reconstructed from the stack of notecards at his elbow.

“Decided it needed to be bigger?” Jackson asks, and Danny scowls.

“My paper was gone, along with my references. I’m pretty sure that dream I had about Stilinski wasn’t actually a dream.” Danny draws another line, focusing as he connects the coordinates listed on the card. “Which means I’m redoing the map because if it’s important, I want to have it.”

“Is it important, or is it dangerous?” Jackson still isn’t sure. “Deaton wanted me to bring him the work we’d done, and I refused. If anyone’s going to use it to protect you, it’s me.”

“Thanks, Jackson, but I’m fine. I’ve told you that.” Danny puts the card aside, takes the next from the stack and starts seeking out the coordinates. “Ethan’s not the one who poisoned me, and if he offers me the bite, I’m not going to take it.”

“What if he just does it?”

“He won’t.” Danny’s voice is flat, definite. “He wouldn’t.” He grabs the red pen and draws another long line, and Jackson follows the path of the ink with a fingertip. “Get dressed.”

Jackson rolls his eyes but he grabs for a pair of sweats anyway, pulling them on and yanking the drawstring tight to try to keep them up on his narrow hips. He sits down on the bed, leans back, and wrinkles his nose immediately at the strong scent that wafts up from the sheets. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“I woke up. Ethan visited.” There’s a note in Danny’s voice that warns Jackson, but he ignores it.

“You’re an idiot.”

Danny puts the pen down, turns slowly. “No, I’m not. He’s my boyfriend. So he came over, and we had sex while my parents were out. It’s what people do when they like each other a lot, Jackson. I was under the impression that you knew that. Lydia wasn’t exactly shy about sharing your habits.”

“I don’t want to talk about Lydia,” Jackson snaps, because it’s not a thing anymore. He loved her, it’s over, she’s moved on. There is no _thing_ for Jackson right now, other than his right hand, and honestly, next time Danny leaves him home alone he _is_ going to jerk off in Danny’s bed and mark it.

“I don’t want to talk about Ethan,” Danny counters, just as irritated.

“What if he smelled me?” As if Jackson wasn’t thinking about leaving his scent on purpose, as if he didn’t mark this place so that Ethan would _know_ that Danny’s protected.

“You’re the one who sleeps here.” Danny’s tone goes flat and he turns his back on Jackson. “Look, I can’t figure you out. Either you want them to find you, or you don’t. You can’t scent mark everything and then cry about someone noticing a werewolf in the place.”

Jackson can’t figure out what to say, so he says nothing. Instead he gets up and goes fishing through the drawers in Danny’s room, looking for a fresh set of sheets. When he finds them, he turns to bring them overto the bed, only to find Danny in his way.

Danny wraps his hands around Jackson’s wrists. “No. Put them away. I’m not your territory and I swear to God if I ever find out that you’ve pissed on anything in here to mark it—”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Good.”

Jackson doesn’t mention the tires of a car outside, or the fact that he’s considered slashing the tires of Ethan’s bike. It won’t help, not when Danny’s ignoring reality.

Danny sinks back down into his chair, moving a little more stiffly than makes Jackson comfortable. “I’m worried about you,” Danny says. “All you’ve got is me, here, and that’s making you unreasonable.”

“Maybe I should just go back to school with you.” Not that he could do it. His parents are in London, and no other adults know he’s here. There’s no one for the school to have listed as Jackson’s guardian, and he doesn’t want to get Danny’s parents involved with the supernatural. On the other hand, if he could go, he could keep an eye on Danny all the time. “I was there today.”

It’s a way of rerouting the conversation, before Danny protests about the idea of Jackson in school.

“Oh?” Danny glances up. “Why?”

“I wanted to know why you don’t remember your English teacher asking you to stop by.” Jackson holds up one hand, doesn’t let Danny protest. “It doesn’t matter. The coyote and I were there, and we went into the classroom. I swear I smelled mistletoe in there, and I think she was dosed too because when we found her home, it smelled like death.” He shivers, remembering the anxiety washing over him, feels it prick at his skin in sharp memory.

Danny shifts his seat, moving from chair to the edge of the bed next to Jackson. “And?”

“And I felt the anxiety there. The same thing that sent us running.” Jackson leans into Danny’s touch, tilts against him, head on his shoulder as Danny puts his arm around him, one hand soothing against Jackson’s skin. “It smelled like death and it felt like I should be running. So we left.”

“You think my English teacher is in danger.”

“I think it’s a possibility.” Jackson doesn’t want to move from where he is right now, his wolf finally fully calming under Danny’s touch. “I smelled the mistletoe, and I think whoever fed it to you might have fed it to her as well. That might be why you don’t remember it.”

“Did you smell anyone there?”

It’s a logical question, and Jackson should know the answer, but he can’t come up with anything. “Not anyone I didn’t recognize,” he admits. “The coyote wasn’t any help either. She didn’t want to go in the room. She’s better at tracking than me—we wouldn’t have found the house otherwise. But she wouldn’t go near that. So it’s a dead end.”

“Did you go in? Look for a body?” Danny makes it sound so reasonable that Jackson growls softly and looks away, ashamed that he left it hanging.

“Couldn’t even get close,” he admits. “I wanted to jump out of my skin there. I wanted to run, so we did. We left.” He makes a face, frustrated by his own weakness. “Fine. Do you want me to tell Deaton about it?”

“Stilinski stole my maps. We are _not_ helping them.” Danny stands up, moves back to the desk. “Can you tell me where her house is?”

Jackson might not have the same references as a wolf, but he can still navigate. It takes him a little longer to figure out exactly where he was on the outskirts of town, but he’s able to pinpoint the neighborhood, and after a little more consideration, he touches the map approximately where he thinks the house was. Danny holds Jackson’s finger in place, uses a pencil to trace around it.

When Jackson lifts his finger, the pencil circles a space where several red lines intersect.

“It’s a nexus of the telluric currents,” Danny says quietly. “If the currents and what you felt are linked, that’s why. It’s not that she’s dead. It’s that she’s living in a magical hot zone.”

It’s a relief not to be finding a body, but at the same time, it doesn’t make Jackson any more comfortable to know that one of the last people to see Danny before he was poisoned—and in a place where he could smell mistletoe—is living in a place that means magic. She might not know. Or it’s possible she’s a part of it. “I don’t think you should go to English class,” he says quietly. “Maybe you should just avoid her.”

“If I avoided everything weird at the school, I’d never go to class,” Danny says with a small smirk. He knocks into Jackson’s shoulder, and Jackson has to smile back at him. “I’m going to be fine, Jackson. Stop mothering me.”

“Stop almost dying, and we’ll be fine.”

“I’ll do my best.” Danny climbs back on the bed, grabs his remote and turns on the TV. “Movie time. Get over here and sit down. Furred or human, I don’t care.”

Jackson sheds the sweats and drops into Kula’s form before leaping onto the bed and blanketing Danny’s legs. He makes himself comfortable, lets Danny pick the movie from Netflix. As the credits play, Danny’s fingers thread into Jackson’s ruff, and he stretches out, head on Danny’s lap.

“He didn’t try to bite me when I was dying,” Danny says quietly. “You can trust, Ethan.”

Jackson still doesn’t agree, but he can’t argue Danny’s point. He’ll just have to keep watching. Make sure nothing happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and happy Sunday! I finished the draft of this book in the series (yes, there's a novellette or novel length sequel coming, too) this past week, and can now say that there will be 36 chapters overall. Which means this is the 1/3 point! We are rolling through season 3a, and I should warn you that the latter half of the book deals with season 3b. Like all of 3b. 
> 
> Thank you so much for being here and for reading. I love you all! *blows kisses* Your love and comments mean the world to me.
> 
> I'll be back again next Sunday, May 8th. See you then! And until then, you can also [find me on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com).


	13. Chapter 13

Once Danny goes back to school, Jackson is at loose ends. He texts his mother, just a short note to say he’s okay, then tosses his phone aside. He wants to go out, but he’s not sure if he wants to hunt or if he wants to be human. It had been so long since he interacted with anyone, and after that one day in the hospital, he can’t stop thinking about it.

Maybe it’s not so bad. Maybe _he’s_ not so bad.

If he’s going to be human, he needs clothes. He goes through all of Danny’s closet, sorting everything he finds into yes, maybe, and no way. There are t-shirts he could deal with, and he makes his own stash of Danny’s hoodies, but aside from the too-long sweats, there really aren’t any pants. Jackson needs clothes.

He texts his mother again. _You said my things would be in storage_.

It takes time before his mother texts him back, time that Jackson spends sprawled out across Danny’s bed thinking about watching movies or porn or anything to distract him from being _bored_. Because humans are _bored_. He didn’t miss that part of it at all. But she sends him a number for a lawyer, and Jackson stares at it because if he talks to someone as himself, then he’s back. He may not be _back_ , but this will be making himself somewhat official. He’ll have money. Clothes. Human trappings.

He doesn’t have to use them, though. He can leave it all in Danny’s care, and he can use what he needs. That’s it. That’s how he’ll handle it.

The meeting goes easily; the lawyer was apparently warned about Jackson stopping in, and has no problems with identification. He hands Jackson his wallet with his license, his bank card, and he hands him a key and an address to a storage facility.

“What about my car?” Jackson asks, and the lawyer consults the paperwork in front of him.

“Your car will remain in storage until your mother releases it.” Unsaid is that she hasn’t released it yet.

Not that Jackson has anywhere to park it. And the Porsche would be a clear sign of Jackson’s presence in Beacon Hills. But he just wants a way to get around that involves clothes for when he interacts with people other than Danny.

He walks from the lawyer’s office to the bank, and from there to a disreputable used car dealership where he drops two grand on an old beat-up Chevy that no one will notice. It smells like old sweat socks and sex, but it has wheels and it runs. He hates it, but at the same time, there’s a strange sense of freedom in buying it, like maybe he’s reclaiming some small part of his life.

Of course it’s like the clothes from the donation box: not Whittemore approved. He’s not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing right now.

He drives to the storage facility and gets the key to his unit. His laptop is waiting for him, along with his old phone, and boxes of clothes and _things_ from his room. The trophies stand out, smelling of bright marble and metal, and he shoves them out of the way before he begins.

He digs through boxes, separating out one suitcase full of clothes. Simple things that fit well, but will let him blend in. Things that will work with one of Danny’s hoodies thrown over his body and covering his head, letting him hide in plain sight. He takes the box, his laptop, and his phone, and heads out to the car.

Cora’s leaning against the hood, her arms crossed, and for a moment Jackson thinks about turning around and going back inside.

“Your car stinks,” she says, and Jackson raises both eyebrows at her.

“So?” He yanks open the trunk, cringes at the stench of stale sweat. “It’s mine, and that’s all that matters. Are you hunting me down for a reason?”

“Yeah. Who are you?” She moves slowly along the side of the car, and Jackson stays where he is, waiting for her. She acts like she doesn’t care, one finger trailing along the lines above the door, but he can see the tension, can see that she’s waiting to pounce.

“It doesn’t matter to you. I’m not one of the Alphas,” Jackson says slowly. He tries to keep his body loose, to not antagonize her. Her fingers twitch; he’s pretty sure there’s no way he can keep from pissing her off. “And I’m not whatever else is out there, either. I might not like Hale or McCall, but I’m actually on their side.”

“Then why don’t I know who you are?” Cora’s voice is sharp, each word shooting out like a weapon. “Most of Derek’s pack is gone now. Erica’s dead. Boyd’s dead. Isaac’s probably more with Scott than Derek. He’s got Peter, but who knows if that’s even a good thing.”

“It’s not.” Jackson can’t help saying it, and when Cora glares at him, he smiles slightly.

“He’s my uncle,” Cora hisses at him, her eyes flashing yellow. “I don’t have much family left, but he’s still part of it.”

“He forced Lydia to almost go insane and bring him back to life,” Jackson tells her, keeping his voice low. “He used her.”

“Wait.” Cora stops, inhales with her mouth open, lets the breath out with a smile. “I know who you are.”

“You don’t.” Quick and sharp, and Jackson’s back goes stiff, his hands curling into claws.

“Lydia. Danny.” She lets the names fall as she approaches, ending up standing right in front of him. She’s not tall, but neither is he and she’s taller than Lydia, even in her high top sneakers. She tilts her head slightly, arms crossed as she meets his eyes. “You’re Jackson. You’re Derek’s first beta.”

“I’m not Derek’s pack at all,” Jackson sneers. “He made that clear when he tried to kill me.”

“You were murdering people.”

“You weren’t here. You don’t get to judge me.”

She laughs then, and he’s shocked enough at the sound and her expression that he takes a step back. Her shoulders go loose as she stands there, her stance easier. “You aren’t what I pictured when Stiles told me about you. He said _Hugo Boss_ and _Porsche_ and I was figuring asshole fratboy with a chip on his shoulder, not someone who smells as much like a wolf as anyone who was born that way.” Her head tilts again, chin lowering, her neck hidden from his view. “I saw you shift, you know. Lydia doesn’t know that was you. But she’s seen the wolf around, thinks some big dog is following her. And Stiles said you tried to bite him once. For someone who isn’t interested in the pack, you spend an awful lot of time around them.”

Jackson isn’t going to defend his actions, not to this girl who has no idea about who he really is. “What do you mean Erica and Boyd are dead?” It doesn’t surprise him that Isaac is tilting after Scott; it’s only a surprise that it’s taken this long. Jackson knew a long time ago that Isaac had a thing for Danny, but he was never enough of an asshole for Danny to even notice.

“Nice change of subject.” Cora pats his shoulder. “Smooth. Subtle. And I mean they’re dead. Killed by the Alpha pack. Erica died while we were imprisoned. Aiden and Ethan held Derek in place while they dropped Boyd on his claws.”

Jackson shudders at the mental image, holds onto the back of the car. He knew Ethan was a problem. He _knew_. “I need to tell Danny.”

Cora shakes her head. “Go ahead and tell him, but it’s not going to change anything. It can’t. Not unless you want Danny to let Ethan know that he knows what he is.”

“We’ve known that Ethan’s an Alpha since he flashed his eyes at me,” Jackson says, voice low. “Danny refuses to break up with him. He likes him.”

“Out of the two, he’s the better one. I can’t understand Lydia’s taste.” Cora makes a small noise of dismissal. “I’m not going to tell anyone about you. You have no impact on what’s happening. I just wanted you to know that I have my eye on you. If you decide to pick a side, it’d better be ours. So you might want to think about that, since your friend seems to be on the side of the Alphas.”

“But you trust Lydia?” It’s a nudge, a reminder that romance and loyalties aren’t the same thing, and Cora makes that dismissive, disgusted noise again.

“Lydia is a work in progress, but she’s getting better. She’s pissed off at Aiden, which is an improvement.” Cora’s gaze drops down Jackson’s body, and she rolls her eyes as she looks at the sweats. “Stiles is right; you’re pretty. And you are way too pretty to be hiding under hoods and baggy sweats. Clean yourself up and have some self-respect.”

“Did he tell you what I did?” Jackson doesn’t want to know how much she knows. He really doesn’t want to go down memory lane and relive the days of the kanima. But at the same time, he wants to know what they’re saying about him. He wants to know just how difficult it would be to fit in if he changed his mind.

Cora crosses her arms, stares at him. “My brother had blue eyes before he became an Alpha,” she says slowly. “Sometimes shit happens. No one knows that better than the Hales. So yeah, I know what you did. I also know things my brother did, and I know things that other wolves have done. We’re not angels, Jackson.”

The logic goes in circles. If Jackson can be forgiven, if Derek can be forgiven, should they be able to forgive Ethan? Aiden? It makes his head ache, and he swallows down any possible response. “I need to go.”

“So do I. I’ve got things to do, people to see, a war to fight.” Cora takes a step back, and he wonders where her car is, or if she can transform into a wolf as well and ran here, chasing his scent.

Not that it matters. He’s not going to see her again.

Jackson climbs in his car and buckles his belt, pulls out before he can reconsider. She’s still standing there, watching the car go, until he turns a corner and can’t see her in the rearview mirror anymore.

#

When Jackson gets dressed in his own clothes, it feels like they’re too tight, closing in on him. He quickly strips them off, leaves them spread all over Danny’s bed and room like a bomb exploded in the box he brought home. He lies naked on top of the comforter, one of Danny’s hoodies under his head like a pillow, and only opens his eyes when Danny walks in after school.

“Want to talk about it?” Danny settles on the bed, his hand on Jackson’s shoulder, fingers cool against warm skin.

“Not really.” Jackson closes his eyes again, turns towards Danny’s touch until his neck is under his fingers. He feels the way Danny hooks under the collar, tugs it tight, and just like that Jackson can breathe. This is his fucking anchor. He inhales roughly, lets it out slowly as he tries to convince his body to relax.

“I picked up some of my things from the storage unit,” he says. His fingers wave, pointing vaguely toward the laptop bag and the empty box of clothes. “I’ve got my old phone back, and I already texted Mom to turn it on. I’ve got clothes that fit.”

“You planning on wandering around town on two legs?” Danny asks. His fingers slide along the length of the collar, stroking the skin under it, and Jackson inhales slowly at the touch.

“Sometimes. You’ve got a concert this week; I was going to go to that.” It’s what best friends do. Besides, there have been too many disappearances at the high school, and a big event sounds like the perfect time for chaos. Jackson doesn’t trust anyone right about now. “I like hearing you play.”

“You like watching me blow my horn.” Danny smirks. “Tongue. Hands. You love it.”

Jackson licks his lips, refuses to meet his eyes. “Keep on flirting, and I’ll keep on thinking I’m your type after all.” Danny just laughs and nudges him slightly, before pushing away from the bed. Jackson sits up as Danny goes, watches as Danny picks up the scattered clothing.

“If you’re living in my room, you are not using my floor as a closet.” Danny tosses the discarded items at Jackson. “Start folding. I’ll give you a drawer or two and some hangers.”

It takes time, but they manage to put together a semi-organized way to store Jackson’s things in between Danny’s, and by the time they are done, the scents are starting to intermingle and Jackson is able to relax. He sifts through the clothes, picks out underwear and jeans first, then grabs one of his own shirts, and pulls on one of Danny’s hoodies over it. He draws up the hood, inhales the scent, and this time it doesn’t feel like it’s strangling him. When he glances over, Danny’s sitting backwards on his desk chair, letting it sway back and forth and watching Jackson like he can read his mind.

“You okay?” Danny asks, and Jackson fights not to let the small whine escape, but it does.

“Not entirely,” Jackson admits. “But also yeah. I’m okay. I’ll be fine.”

#

“Are you sure you want to be here?” Danny hasn’t left the car yet, his trumpet case on the back seat, his dress shirt still with the top three buttons undone. “You can go home. Come back and get me when it’s over.” Danny offers Jackson the keys, and Jackson takes them, shoves them into the pocket of the hoodie he’s wearing.

“I’ll hold onto the keys for you—they destroy the line of your pants,” Jackson says. “You’re wearing designer clothes. Make an effort to look like it.”

Danny lightly cuffs him, and Jackson scowls. It’s all play but it lets the discussion of Jackson’s mental health slide off the table and be ignored for the moment.

Because no, he really doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to walk into a crowded, hot auditorium that reeks of teenagers and angst. He doesn’t want to be in this place that is all too human, and he doesn’t want to see people who might recognize him if he lets them. He doesn’t want to risk his own safety.

But at the same time, he won’t let Danny go in alone.

“I’ll be fine,” he says, and he pushes the door open, tugs the hood up over his head. Someone might yell at him later, but if he can avoid teachers, he should be fine. He lets Danny grab the trumpet and head toward the school first, then locks the car and slips into the crowd and follows them into the auditorium.

It’s thick with nerves, and Jackson tastes it all on his tongue. He can’t tease out the different scents, can’t separate one person from another, even though he sees Ethan meet Danny down by the stage, and he spots Aiden in the audience. Jackson finds a spot near the wall, crosses his arms and leans against it, letting the shadows partly hide him while he listens in on Ethan and Danny’s conversation.

It’s fucking adorable, of course, and there’s nothing but honest fondness in Ethan’s tone or his heartbeat. Ethan buttons those last three buttons at Danny’s throat, then fixes his tie. The words are almost too low, but Ethan has to pitch them for human ears among the din of the crowd, so Jackson can still hear him as well.

“If anything happens,” Ethan says quietly. “Find me.”

It may be the first time Jackson’s liked him. He still doesn’t trust Ethan one bit, but it makes him feel better to know that if things go haywire, Ethan plans on protecting Danny, despite the Alpha pack. He just isn’t sure Ethan can live up to that promise.

Ethan joins Aiden in the audience, and Danny heads off to warm up with the band. It’s familiar; while Jackson’s never played an instrument, he’s been at every single one of Danny’s concert since Danny started playing back in fourth grade. And some of those early concerts were absolutely excruciating, so even with danger potentially hanging over their heads, Jackson figures this will at least have decent music.

And it seems like the whole pack is here, except the Hales. Scott and Lydia come in together, or close enough that Jackson doesn’t seem them before they meet, and Stiles and Allison join them later as they sit down. It’d be so easy to drift closer, listen to their conversation, but as the music starts playing, Jackson winces and can’t filter it out.

There’s something jarring about the music, something that slips under his skin in uncomfortable ways. He feels his wolf whine, fights to keep himself from turning and he wonders how the others aren’t noticing it in the same way. A part of him wants to drop to all four feet and shift, but he’s dead certain that doing that would leave him in worse shape.

This is the anxiety. The same anxiety.

Lydia gets up and makes her way out of the auditorium, while the others stay seated. Jackson is torn, starting to follow her before he stops and looks back at the stage. The music is _wrong_ and Danny looks obsessed, playing the trumpet like demons ride his back.

Lydia has other people with her. She has Scott, Stiles, Allison, Aiden. All Danny has is Ethan and Jackson, and there is no way that Jackson is going to leave him now.

He makes his way closer to the door at the back of the hall, arms tightly crossed, fingers tipped with claws and digging into his own arms. Jackson’s breath is rough in his lungs, dragged in and out with each thump of the drums. The energy of the composition rides him and he stares at Danny, watches his skin grow red, his lips purse with each fervent blow into the trumpet. The pianist crashes her hands across the keys, a scattering of thunderous sound that ends abruptly when a wire snaps in the piano, whipping back to slice her throat.

She falls over and the music ends, echoing in the hall.

It’s like being released from a spell, and Jackson takes two steps forward before he can catch himself, as if he’d been trying to run and had been held in place instead. The audience surges to its feet, moves in clumps of humanity toward the doors. He’s already lost track of Stiles and Scott, but Allison runs up to the pianist and Ethan jumps onto the stage to meet Danny, who looks terrified.

Ethan didn’t wait for Danny to come to him. Ethan leapt right in where Jackson couldn’t in order to protect Danny.

But Aiden didn’t go after Lydia, and Jackson still can’t trust him, not completely. Not when the whole world feels like it’s raining down, and Jackson is shaking in the aftermath.

He steps out of the auditorium and looks back in before he howls once, short and sharp.

“I have to go.” Danny grips Ethan’s shoulder, squeezes hard before he looks out over the seats to the door at the back. Ethan’s gaze follows Danny’s, and Ethan locks eyes with Jackson. One lip curls, and Ethan snarls as Danny walks away, but Jackson isn’t giving way. Red eyes flash, and Jackson’s too slow to move, feels his own eyes flash in response before Danny meets him.

“We need to get out of here.” Jackson wraps his fingers around Danny’s wrist and pulls, tugging him to the door. They both weave through the crowd and into the parking lot, aiming for the car. “Something’s still wrong in there.”

“Yeah, the pianist is dead,” Danny says flatly. “Mistletoe, Jackson. It was all over the floor when she fell.”

Jackson stops, his fingers still tight around Danny’s wrist. “She was poisoned and her throat was cut? At the same time? Doesn’t that seem like overkill to you?”

“Nothing about that concert felt right.” Danny shifts his grip, and then he’s holding onto Jackson, pulling him to the car. Jackson climbs in, handing over the keys, and Danny starts the car, sitting there while it warms up. They can’t go anywhere, a long line of cars already blocking traffic so they can’t even pull out of the space. “It was like… it was like I couldn’t stop playing. Like something made me play. And that wasn’t even what we practiced. I swear, Jackson, that wasn’t the music we were supposed to play.”

“Did you feel it?” Jackson asks. “Under your skin? I wanted to shift. To run. It brought back that same anxiety.”

Danny nods once, fingers tight on the wheel. “Do we stay then? Or do we go?”

“Lydia’s back there,” Jackson says quietly. “But so are Scott, Aiden, Ethan, Allison, even Stiles. And you’re human, Danny. You nearly died not all that long ago, and I don’t think that just knowing about the supernatural is enough for you to go up against it. So, no, we don’t stay. We go home, and we make sure you’re safe. And if you want to call them to find out what happened, you do that. But there are more of them than there are of me right now, and I’m making sure that you don’t die.”

Danny eases the car into reverse, slowly backing into a space in the line of cars. “We should get in touch with them. Figure out what’s going on.”

“Contact Derek,” Jackson says. “Unless you have Cora’s number. If you have that, give it to me.”

Danny looks over at him, brow furrowed. “I don’t have either,” Danny tells him. “But Deaton probably does. If you want to get in touch with him, I could head there.”

Jackson feels tension in the air, swears there’s a storm coming in. He shakes his head. “Go home. We’ll call him from there. Cora knows me, and she wants me to choose a side. She thinks I’ll be choosing the Alphas because of you.”

“I’m not going against Ethan,” Danny says, and Jackson feels a twist in his chest.

“I know,” he says quietly. “I just want to make sure Lydia’s okay. That’s all. And Cora seemed to give a shit about her.” It’s the best he can do right now. He’s only one werewolf, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, and happy Sunday! Hope you all have had a great weekend, and enjoy this little bit to read today. As of last week, the story is not only complete, but the edits are finished as well. I will be starting the sequel soon, and once I'm a good way into THAT, I might be able to post this more often. Wish me luck (and speed)!
> 
> Next part will post on Sunday, May 15. Until then, you can find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	14. Chapter 14

By the time they make it home, a brutal wind has started to blow and Jackson’s glad that they didn’t swing by Deaton’s. He and Danny dash inside just before the skies open, and Danny yells out to his parents that he’s fine as they thunder up the stairs together. They barely make it to his room when there’s a knock on the door and Danny opens it, leaning out through the crack.

Jackson can smell the perfume that Danny’s mother wears, can hear the steady, even beat of her heart, even though she must have taken the stairs quickly to catch up with them.

“Everything okay?” Danny asks, and there’s a soft laugh in response.

“That’s my question.” Mrs. Mahealani’s voice is gentle. “I just want you to know that mothers talk.”

Jackson can’t breathe, his lungs tight, and he sits down in a small thump against the floor. _Oh fuck_. He knows what that has to mean, what she’s implying.

“And I do understand why you’ve gone to such trouble, and perhaps it’s for the best in some way.” There’s a sound of movement, and Jackson imagines her shallow shrug. “I, for one, am pleased that you have such a stalwart knight to protect you, Danny. Beacon Hills has too many nights like tonight.”

Danny’s nerves are an acrid taste on the air, and Jackson takes the scent in, closes his eyes and tries to breathe evenly.

“Yeah, mom,” Danny says softly, and Jackson’s thankful that he doesn’t try to deny or explain any of it, and that maybe she won’t ask for more.

“You’re a good boy.” A pause, the sound of her patting Danny’s cheek before she continues. “Stay in, tonight. It sounds like it’s a night not fit for humans or dogs.”

Her footsteps retreat, and Danny closes the door in her wake, then drops into the chair by his desk, sets it spinning. “I guess it was too much to hope they didn’t notice anything.”

“Your mom seems to be taking it well.” Jackson heard the implications there, the idea that his mother called Danny’s mother and that they _talked_ , that she knows _everything_. Well, everything about Jackson’s presence in the house. There’s a whole hell of a lot she still wouldn’t know about what’s going on in Beacon Hills right now.

“That’s what worries me.” Danny looks at the door. “I feel like she should be freaking out or something.”

“You didn’t freak out. Much.”

Danny makes a hand motion, accepts that explanation without anything else.

And maybe it’s just mothers. Maybe it’s the way they have their own lives, their own conversations. Maybe Danny’s mother was prepared because Jackson’s mother made sure of it. Maybe his own mother has been trying to protect him all along, even from London.

He resolves to call her again, when things return to sanity.

There’s a crash of thunder, a whip of the wind against the window, rattling it in its pane. Rain strikes with huge droplets and Jackson is thankful to be indoors for once. He wonders if the cave will flood with this much rain, and he wonders if the coyote will be fine.

For a moment he thinks about going to check on his packmate, but his other packmate is right here and after the harrowing night they’ve had, Jackson can’t leave Danny alone.

Or maybe it’s Jackson that doesn’t want to be alone.

He yanks off his jeans and shirt, strips down to just his boxer briefs, and settles in on Danny’s bed. He pulls out his new phone, sees a text from his mother that his old phone won’t be turned on. _You wanted a new start,_ she says and he can’t argue with that, so he texts her back. _Thank you. Danny’s mom said you’ve talked. Thank you for that, too._

His phone chimes quickly, even though he’s sure it has to be late there. _Take care of yourself, Jackson. I love you._

He should say it back, but he’s still wrestling through his family feelings enough that he can’t type the words out, and he closes out of messaging and opens up the address book instead. The old phone is charged up enough that he can start it up and painstakingly copy his saved numbers into the new address book. Then he starts sending texts, starting with Stiles and moving on to Lydia, frustrated when minutes pass with no one responding.

He tosses the phone on the bed. “Any luck?”

“No answer from Ethan or Lydia,” Danny tells him. “I’ve got the number for the animal hospital, if you want to try Deaton.”

Jackson punches in the numbers as Danny reads them off, but the phone rings a half dozen times then goes to an answering machine. He doesn’t bother to leave a message, hanging up and listening to the wind blow. It sounds almost as angry and frustrated as he feels. “I don’t like this.”

“You don’t like not being in control.” Danny flops onto the bed backwards, one arm thrown back and bumping into Jackson’s hip.

“Not true.” Maybe true. Jackson doesn’t like it when something he doesn’t trust is in control, and right now, he has absolutely no way to handle this situation. He can’t make sure Lydia’s okay. He can’t talk to anyone, and he doesn’t trust himself to get through the storm to find out for certain. “There are times when I don’t need to be in control,” he mutters. “But not like this. We either need to go out, or we need someone to text us back. Let us know what’s going on.”

Danny shifts, pushes himself back on the bed until he’s sitting next to Jackson, one arm slung around his shoulders. “Shift,” he says. “Apparently my mom knows I got a dog anyway. You might as well get comfortable.”

Jackson rolls his eyes, shoves at Danny to make space between them. But he yanks his boxer briefs off, lets the change come over him and stretches out on the bed. Danny lies down half on top of him, and Jackson can finally breathe easily, letting go of some of the tension that the storm brings.

He’s drifting, not paying attention to whatever movie Danny has on Netflix. The storm roars, and the phones remain silent, and there’s still anxiety on the edge of Jackson’s awareness. In the distance he hears howling, and then a much closer yip, angry and frustrated.

The coyote.

Jackson rolls off the bed, landing on his feet and shaking himself. He puts his paws on the edge of the bed, noses at Danny’s chest when he hears the coyote yip again.

“Danny!”

“What?” Danny yells back to his mother’s question. She’s upstairs; Jackson can hear the heartbeats of both of Danny’s parents, loose and lax with almost sleep in their bedroom.

“Let your dog back in!”

Jackson snorts, and Danny smirks. “As long as you are actually furry, I can make all the dog jokes.” Danny leans over to ruffle his fur, then heads out of the room, Jackson following quietly behind him.

There’s a scratch at the back door before Danny can get it open, and as soon as there is space, the coyote shoots inside, sitting on the floor of the kitchen dripping wet and shivering. She gives Jackson a baleful look, then very deliberately stalks over to stand next to him before she shakes herself dry and leaves him soaked.

“I see your friend is as much of an asshole as you are.” Danny sounds like he’s holding back laughter. “It’s nice to meet you, too. Jackson, get her to come upstairs. She can stay until the storm blows over.”

The coyote huffs a small, exasperated sound, then leads the way up the stairs, her nostrils flared, nose to the ground as she unerringly finds Danny’s room and wedges her way through the partly closed door. She takes up a space on the floor at the foot of the bed and glares at Danny as if daring him to make her move.

When her eyes flash briefly blue, Jackson’s flare in return, glaring at her. He whuffs to let her know that Danny’s the best kind of friend that they’re going to get.

He leaps onto the bed, nudges at the blankets until Danny takes one and drops it onto the floor for the coyote to turn into a makeshift bed, turning herself around three times before she curls up with her nose tucked under her tail.

“Think she’s hungry?” Danny asks, and the coyote makes a small noise.

Jackson whuffs to try to tell him that she could eat, but Danny seems to get the point. He leaves and comes back with a bowl filled with raw chicken, rice, and an egg, with a cut up apple on one side. She growls when he gets too close, but accepts when he crouches down further away and shoves the bowl within range. She eats carefully, watching them both.

Jackson huffs, because he doesn’t want to watch her eat. He spreads out on the bed, kicks the comforter aside and leaves little room for Danny. It means that as soon as Danny’s changed into sleep pants, he has to wind himself around Jackson in order to fit in the bed, which suits Jackson just fine.

The storm might be raging outside, but he’s got his whole pack safe and sound in this one room. As far as Jackson’s concerned, all’s right with the world, or at least as right as he can make it.

#

Jackson wakes up to the press of a cold nose against his own, a muzzle burrowing into his ruff as the coyote has her front paws on the bed to nudge at him. The moment he moves, stretching lazily, she backs up quickly, wary gaze fixed on the space where Danny lies behind him, one arm thrown across Jackson’s furry belly.

Jackson whines softly to let her know it’s okay, then rolls over and licks Danny’s face, quick and sloppy, a canine laugh rumbling up when Danny swats him away.

“Gross, Jackson. Dog breath.” Danny shoves at his chest, rolling out of bed on the other side. There’s a scrabble of nails as the coyote presses back against the opposite wall, feet splayed, teeth bared in a growl. “Tell your friend that I’m not going to hurt her.”

Jackson is pretty sure that she understands language still, but it’s not like she can answer Danny. If she can turn back to human, Jackson’s never seen it. So he whuffs as reassuringly as he can, then slips off the bed, sits down next to her and leans into her, shoulder to shoulder.

When he looks back over, Danny’s giving him a considering look. “She’s like you, right?”

Jackson nods, then shakes his head, then nods again. She is, but she isn’t. He really doesn’t expect her to go to Beacon Hills High any time soon. And he’s not shifting back to human in order to talk about it, not now.

The coyote yips softly, makes a querulous noise and leans into Jackson, and he gets up in response and pads to the door. He goes up on his hind legs, leans on the lever of the handle until it opens and he can nudge his way into the hall.

“Kula,” Danny says warningly, but there’s no reason to hide, not if Danny’s parents have already figured it out. Besides, this will open up a chance for Danny to have a heartwarming parent/child conversation about taking care of friends and telling parents important things and Jackson won’t have to be present for it. Which seems pretty much perfect.

He leads the coyote to the stairs, then down and through the living room, heading for the back of the house and the kitchen. Danny’s mother is there—Jackson guesses that his father has already left for work—and she glances up from her cup of coffee when Jackson, the coyote, and Danny all enter the room.

Danny freezes. Jackson snorts, and the coyote growls.

Mrs. Mahealani’s gaze falls on the coyote, and her brows furrow. There’s a quick rush of concern in her scent, worry and a hint of fear. “Which one is—”

Jackson barks once, short and sharp.

“Is the coydog wild?” she asks, another small rush of fear threading through her scent despite how calmly she sits there.

Jackson isn’t going to correct her and explain that his packmate is a coyote, and he doubts Danny will either. And it’s also not a conversation he wants to stick around for; this is a conversation for Danny to have. He heads for the door, does his best to get it open or get someone to open it for him, while the coyote lingers on the edges of the room, one corner of her lips curled in a quiet snarl.

Danny’s mother turns back to her coffee, takes a sip as if her heart isn’t racing loud enough for Jackson and the coyote to hear it clearly. “Let them out before they wreck the paint. And Jackson, we have a guest room. When you’re ready, it’s yours. Your mother tells me that you’ve been to your storage unit.”

Jackson _really_ doesn’t want to have this conversation, and not in front of the coyote. He shoves his shoulder into the door, feels the impact and hears the heavy thud.

“Don’t scare him away.” Danny’s voice is soft. “Please, Mom.” He comes to the door, sinks down into a crouch and pulls Jackson close, arms around his neck, face buried against his fur. Danny tangles one finger in the collar, rubs his cheek against Jackson’s muzzle. “I’ll try to get in touch with Lydia,” he promises quietly. “We have school. I should have news after that. Even if she’s not there, someone will be able to tell me where she is.”

The coyote makes an irritable noise, wedging her way between Danny and Jackson, knocking Jackson into the door. She scratches with one claw, a very deliberate drag through the paint; her message couldn’t be clearer.

“If you need shelter again, come back.” Danny comes to his feet slowly, tugs the door open for them to spill out.

The coyote is already heading for the woods as Danny closes the door. Jackson lingers for a moment, but he can’t hear a conversation start beyond the door, and the coyote yips impatiently. There’s not much he can do here, not right now, so he follows her. He wants to make sure the cave is safe for his pack.

#

The cave is soaked, but the water has retreated. Jackson noses the line on the wall, can see that there were several inches of water inside at one point, and everything the coyote has treasured is drenched. She picks up the doll in delicate teeth, walks it outside and stands there, holding it, her nose lifted as she scents the air.

Jackson follows her, a scrap of a blanket in his teeth. The sun peeks between the trees, and he spots a likely place where he would normally sleep in the sun. He lays the blanket there carefully, barks as he turns back to the coyote. She looks at him warily, and he steps away, giving her room before she sets the doll in the sunbeam as well.

She snarls when Jackson goes back into the cave, won’t let him help bring anything else out, so he sits at the entrance and watches her painstakingly remove each waterlogged item and lay it in the sun. If he’d had any doubts that a human intelligence lurks inside the coyote brain, those doubts are gone now. She may not show any indication of changing forms, but he is very certain that she understood the language in Danny’s house, and she’s showing planning and forethought now.

He wonders what happened to her, and why she retreated, but he can’t fault her. Not when this is his place of comfort as well.

Once everything is out, Jackson and the coyote find a rock to lie on, stretched out in another sunbeam, taking in the warmth. Everything smells wet and thick in the aftermath of the storm, and when Jackson tries to go deeper into the scent, there’s something… wrong.

He sits up, feeling a hint of anxiety shiver down his spine.

He whines, and the coyote stretches slowly, head down and backside in the air. She sits back on her haunches, head tilted as she regards him. Then she yawns wide, teeth showing bright and sharp. When she lies back down, she reaches out with one paw, pats his leg as if encouraging him to lie down as well.

But Jackson can’t. Now that he’s noticed the scent, he can feel something under his skin, something building like a quiet crescendo. He barks and the coyote yips irritatedly. When he slides off the rock, she follows him, padding along behind him as he paces the area, trying to track which direction the scent comes from, where the air is thickest. He starts down one path and realizes that she is no longer behind him.

She sits between two trees, watching him, and she shakes her head, yipping loudly. It’s short, sharp, and angry, slipping into a piteous whine before she lies down, head atop her crossed front paws.

She doesn’t want him to go.

But he has to go. He can’t _not_ find out what this scent is, what’s troubling him, what itches at him so deeply.

He ducks his head once to say he’s sorry, then takes a slow step back. His tail hangs low; he knows he’s disappointing her. She whines low in her throat, but he turns his back and lopes away, nose down to catch the elusive scent.

He loses track of the path it takes him through the woods, focused intently on the wet earth and loam, the thick scents of rot and fire and decomposition that seem to drift in and out of being. He catches another scent and recognizes the Sheriff, that it follows this same path, and that adds an urgency to his step. McCall’s mother layers over that, then Allison’s father.

It all culminates in a clearing with a heavy, thick stump of a tree. It’s big enough that he could lie on it easily, side by side with the coyote, or even with Danny if he were in human form. But at the same time, he doesn’t want to go near it. The scent of death is thicker here, matched by a buzzing in his ears and under his skin.

He paws at one ear, tries to make it stop, but it won’t, _it won’t_. He whines at it, cries out, and swears he hears sound in response but he can’t parse what he hears. It’s all noise, and it’s too much, itching at him, stinging him until he starts to run. He yelps at the sensation of something nipping at his heels, races faster through the woods, not caring that there are stones under his paws. He bursts into the road and races along it, staying just out of reach of the cars zipping by.

He has to get back to safety.

He stops in Danny’s driveway, tongue lolling out as he pants and tries to breathe while listening for heartbeats inside. One heartbeat, Danny’s car is in the driveway, and the sun is just low enough that it should be after school. He barks loudly, several times, then races to the back door and throws himself into it, falling through as soon as it opens, letting his body slip back to human as he sprawls on the floor, tangled around Danny’s feet.

His lungs ache like he’s been running for hours, and blood drips from his palms as the wounds carried over from his paws slowly close. Danny crouches, gathers him in close, slides one hand down his arm and murmurs something that Jackson can’t quite hear past the buzzing in his ears.

It recedes slowly, chased away by Danny’s touch. A soft slow glide of skin on skin rather than the nip of tiny teeth. He closes his eyes, sinks into the touch and reminds himself that he’s safe, there’s nothing actually chasing him.

“We have a problem,” he finally says quietly.

“The fact that you bled on the kitchen floor?” Danny asks dryly. “Or the part where you’re running around naked again and should probably get upstairs before my parents get home from work.”

“They know they’re living with a werewolf, apparently.” Jackson pushes at Danny, extricates himself from his hold and stands up. He grabs a roll of paper towels, tears two off and wets them in the sink, crouching back down to dab at the spots of blood. “How did that conversation go?”

“We can clean that up later.” Danny wraps his fingers around Jackson’s upper arm and tugs, meets his gaze. “Your things are in the guest room; Mom had me move them before I went to school this morning. Get dressed.”

Jackson pulls back, just enough to show Danny that he’s getting up because _he_ wants to, not because Danny’s making him do it. “You spend a lot of time telling me to get dressed.” He’s avoiding things. Avoiding talking about what sent him racing through the woods, avoiding talking about why he doesn’t want to be in the fucking _guest room_.

“You spend a lot of time naked.” Danny swats Jackson’s lower back, just above the curve of his ass. “Get upstairs. Now.”

Fine, if he’s going to be like that.

Jackson walks ahead of Danny, makes sure he gets a decent view as he ascends the stairs. At the top, he turns and heads through the door into Danny’s room, going straight to the dresser to dig out a t-shirt. When Danny lingers in the doorway, Jackson glances back at him. “You’re the one who moved my clothes. Go get me some jeans and underwear or I’m wearing yours.”

Danny’s gone less than a minute—enough time for Jackson to pull the shirt over his head and pick out a hoodie—and Jackson figures that his clothes are just sitting on the bed rather than actually put away. It’s comforting to think that Danny didn’t want his things in the guest room any more than Jackson does.

Jackson catches the jeans and underwear, pulls them both on, not looking at Danny as he does up his fly. “I’m not sleeping in there,” he says.

“You hog the bed when you’re furry.”

“You sleep on me like I’m a pillow,” Jackson counters, and Danny doesn’t deny it.

He also doesn’t tell Jackson to get out, so he takes it as a win.

Jackson sits on the edge of the bed. “I found something weird in the woods today.” He tries to explain it, hands moving as he sketches it out, trying to explain the concept of scent and how he was pulled to the stump. “I don’t know why those scents are there, but someone’s in trouble. The place smells like death. Old death. _Big_ death.”

“You said a stump from a giant tree?” Danny frowns, and he tosses Jackson a piece of paper and a pen. It takes a minute, but Jackson figures out that Danny wants him to draw it.

It’s just a _stump_ and there isn’t much to it when he’s done, and it’s probably not accurate, but he thinks he gets the size across in the image, and the gnarled, knotted roots that sprawled out in all directions. Danny takes the paper from him, frowns as he looks at it, then Danny murmurs, “Lydia was drawing a tree.”

“Think it was this one?”

“I don’t know.” Danny falls back into the office chair. “She was in school today, but she wouldn’t really talk to me. She has a mark here,” he gestures across his throat, and Jackson is vividly reminded of the piano wire slicing the throat of the pianist during the concert. “It looks like someone tried to strangle her, and she changed the subject when I asked about it. Said that Cora is in the hospital, and Stiles is worried, and it looked like everyone but her and Allison was out of school.”

“Allison was there? I wonder if she knows about her dad.” Jackson isn’t sure what to do with it, how fresh the scents were that he smelled. “I think we should go back to the stump. And I think I should be human; if I’m human and you’re with me, maybe I won’t need to run. And it won’t bother you like it did to me. I smelled Nurse McCall, Allison’s dad, and the Sheriff there, plus your English teacher. Something’s going on.”

“Fine.” Danny digs his sneakers out from under the desk and pulls them on. “Go get some shoes if you’re planning on being human. I’ll drive. You tell me where to go.”

It doesn’t seem like it should be that hard. Danny leaves a note for his parents and they head out to the Preserve. There comes a point where they have to walk, and Jackson’s positive he’s heading in the right direction, but no matter what he does, he can’t find the stump.

He can taste traces of the scents on the wind, but it’s like the stump itself doesn’t exist.

And the longer he searches, the more a trickle of anxiety crawls up his spine. It’s not the same as before, not that urgent need to run. This feels more like the steady fear of death, the fear of disappointment, the emotional trauma of knowing you are not good enough and never will be. It’s familiar, but it’s not _Jackson_ , not now.

“We’re going home,” he finally says, fingers clenching and unclenching. “We’re picking up pizza and watching a movie.”

They’ve tried calling, they’ve tried texting, and they’ve tried finding the stump. They’ve tried everything they can think of, and nothing seems to work. If the others don’t want their help, then Jackson isn’t going to bother. They can fail for all he cares. It’s not his anxiety, not his sense of impending doom.

“What movie do you want to watch?” Danny asks as they head back to the car, and Jackson shoves his hands in his pockets, tries to sluff off the emotions that want to wash over him.

“Anything but _The Notebook_ ,” Jackson replies. “Anything other than that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday! Things are ramping up towards the end of the Darach plotline, and Jackson's life is just getting more and more complicated. Hope everyone is enjoying the story! Thank you so much for reading, and for your lovely comments. <3 to all of you.
> 
> The next part will post on Sunday, May 21. Until then, you can find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	15. Chapter 15

Jackson wakes in the middle of the night, hot from the blankets, Danny’s arm wrapped around his furry belly.

Something’s wrong.

Something’s _very_ wrong.

He whines, shifts on the bed, still unsettled even when Danny drags him closer again, murmurs something in his sleep. He can feel the prick of whatever it is under his skin, making his wolf anxious. He whines again, manages to wiggle free after pressing his cold nose against Danny’s throat.

“Kula,” Danny mutters, and Jackson shakes his fur, stands on the bed, wobbly and uncertain.

Something’s wrong, and he has no idea what it is.

He lies down again, one paw over his muzzle as if he can somehow hide. He tastes the air, finds only Danny and himself, no other scents.

It’s as if he’s been cast adrift. As if something has come unmoored, and Jackson wavers now, uncertain, unlinked. He pats at Danny’s shoulder with one paw, but it’s not enough.

It’s not enough to be Kula.

He blinks and falls back into human skin with a thought, burrowing under the blankets and rolling closer to Danny. He feels the warmth of Danny’s body pressed along him, stronger in this form. He lies with his back to Danny’s front, grabs Danny’s hand and presses it to his chest, gratified when Danny presses back in his sleep, when he feels the weight of Danny’s head against his shoulder.

He needs this, needs to be held, to be anchored so he can’t simply float away.

He can still feel how desperately wrong the world has become, but he is too tired to figure out _why_. Sleep drags him under, and he falls into dreams headlong, held safely in Danny’s arms.

#

Jackson wakes again late in the morning, light spilling between the curtains. He still has his back to Danny, his ass pressed firmly against Danny’s crotch, one of Danny’s legs thrown over Jackson’s hip. He can smell the faint scent of morning arousal; that combines with the unmistakable sensation of Danny’s morning wood pressed against him, and his own dick twitches at the thought.

Danny’s wearing sleep pants, but Jackson is buck-naked, human, and hard. And something is still _wrong_.

He starts shaking, and it’s a touch to the collar that grabs his attention.

Danny slides one finger under the collar, hooks it and tugs gently until it’s tight. Jackson shudders, but Danny just gently strokes along the edge of the leather, finger sliding along Jackson’s skin. It’s good. It’s not just good, it’s too good, it’s perfect, and Jackson whines softly as if the wolf still had a hold on him. His eyes close, and he bows his head, bares the nape of his neck for Danny, and Danny takes advantage of the space.

Three fingers slide under the collar into the narrow space between leather and skin, splayed gently over the knobs of Jackson’s spine. Jackson presses back into the touch, tension slowly easing from his body, the shuddering slowing as he relaxes, inch by inch.

He realizes that Danny is whispering, the words pressed into the back of Jackson’s shoulder, almost wordless, just a soft, “ _Sh, sh, shhh…._ ” Jackson holds onto that, lets the sound wrap around him as Danny strokes him again, tracing the line of the collar around his neck, to the front of his throat, and there’s a small curl of pleasure then, a fresh wave of musk— _Jackson’s_ arousal—that permeates the room. His wolf whines in his throat, and he tilts his head back, invites Danny to fit his fingers under the collar at the front, over Jackson’s Adam’s apple, where he’s vulnerable and soft. He inhales, lets it out slow and melts into the bed, into Danny’s hold, lets his anchor hold him afloat so he can’t drift away.

“You okay?” Danny’s voice is low. His hand retreats, no longer curled around Jackson’s throat, resting instead along the side of his neck, still tugging gently on the collar. Jackson focuses in on that sensation, holds onto it as his eyes flicker open and he lets himself return to reality.

“No.” His voice his hoarse, throat rough and he doesn’t know why. “Something’s wrong.”

So many somethings are wrong. There’s that feeling that if he leaves Danny, he’s going to drift away, that something has come unhinged in his world. But there’s also that heat coiled in his gut, making him aching hard and leaking against the sheets, that idea that he could press back, change everything in his life.

The shaking starts again, and Danny makes a concerned noise, tugs sharply once on the collar and Jackson’s eyes flutter closed.

“Why do you do that?” Jackson asks.

“It helps you.” Danny twists his hand, slotting his thumb under the collar, his fingers above it, sliding along the length across the back of Jackson’s neck. “Does it remind you that _you_ own you?”

No. Yes. Maybe.

_No._ Not really.

Fuck.

Jackson wrestles himself under control, pulls on the shell of cocky indifference as he turns, taking the blankets with him, wrapped around his center, his hand fisted in the bundle of them pressed against his crotch. He feels the loss of Danny’s touch, but this puts them face to face without being close enough that Jackson might be tempted to do something really incredibly stupid.

“It’s like an anchor,” Jackson says carefully. “It reminds me that you’re there, that you’re not trying to control me, but you’re here if I need you. You won’t let me get lost in whatever it is my head wants to get lost in.” Because he knows that no matter who he is or what he is, he’s going to know Danny. Even if he gets caught up in something worse than the kanima, he won’t hurt Danny. “So yeah, it helps.”

Danny’s hand falls to the bed between them. Jackson has most of the blankets clutched against himself, leaving a small trail of one edge that covers Danny’s calf. When Danny rolls onto his back, Jackson stares at his chest, refuses to let his gaze drop to where Danny’s still half-hard from morningwood, tenting his sleep pants. “Good,” Danny says. “Now are you going to tell me what’s wrong and why you’re you?”

Jackson snorts. “I’m always me.”

“And I told you furry in bed only,” Danny snaps at him, rolling to a seat, legs over the opposite edge of the bed. “I’m not cheating on Ethan.”

“I’m not asking you to!” Jackson pushes up onto one elbow, lets go of the sheets and trusts that they’ll keep him covered. “I had a fucking nightmare, Danny. There’s something _wrong_ out there. It was like… it’s like there are these strings wrapped around me, they’ve been there ever since I came back to life, and suddenly one of them was _gone_. So _fuck you_ if you think I’m trying to seduce you. I needed my fucking anchor.”

Jackson isn’t sure how they got from Danny helping him to this argument, but the line of Danny’s back is pure tension and Jackson doesn’t trust how he’ll react if Jackson touches him, tries to offer some kind of ease.

“Is it better now?” Danny asks quietly, looking at the phone in his hands.

“Did you help? Yes. Is there still something wrong?” Jackson closes his eyes, feels that off-kilter sense. “Yeah. I don’t know if it’s something broken that can be fixed, or if it’s something I just have to get used to.”

“Something about your wolf?” Danny sets the phone down on the nightstand, reaches down and grabs a pair of sweats to toss at Jackson. They smell like Danny more than Jackson, and they’ll be too big, but right now Jackson doesn’t care.

He inches his way to the foot of the bed, slides from under the covers into the sweats and folds them down to hang low on his hips. They’re loose enough that they hide the fact that his dick has yet to go completely soft. Jackson crosses his arms, tilts his head and looks at Danny. “Yes. Like, I was tied to something and it’s not there anymore.”

Danny looks up at him, tongue flicking out to touch his lips as he thinks. “You should check in with your pack.”

“That’s you and the coyote.”

“And Derek.”

Jackson makes a noise because he still doesn’t know how to address that. He hasn’t seen Derek since the lessons in how to werewolf before Jackson was supposed to leave for London, and he hasn’t wanted to see him. But he _is_ the Alpha who bit Jackson, and he figures they’re tied together in some way because of that.

And when he thinks about it—when he sinks into his senses and reaches out—he’s absolutely positively certain that the coyote is _fine_ , but that something’s happened with Derek. “Something loosened the tie between him and me,” Jackson says quietly, and he has no idea what that means. “I’m going to have to talk to him.”

He grabs his phone, heads down the hall to the bathroom, composing a text as he goes. Derek has no idea that Jackson’s anywhere other than London, and Jackson figures he’ll just ask what the fuck happened without mentioning that he’s local. Derek will reply that he’s fine, everything will be taken care of.

He drops the phone on the edge of the sink and climbs in the shower. He feels like he reeks of nerves, anxiety, and arousal, and he needs to get rid of all of it.

If it takes him a little longer to shower than it should, Danny’s not going to say a word. And Jackson doesn’t say anything about how long it takes Danny, either, once it’s his turn. First rule of sleepovers: never mention the morningwood.

And at the end of it all, Derek still hasn’t texted back, and Jackson’s pretty sure that he’s not going to answer. And neither does anyone else.

#

Danny reports that there’s no one in school. By the time he gets home, Jackson’s swung by Derek’s building twice but hasn’t gone in. He can smell Derek, can feel his presence, but it’s not quite right. He has no urge to go inside, no draw to the other man, and he thinks he’s figured it out.

“Derek’s not an Alpha,” he tells Danny as soon as he gets home. “Which means there isn’t an Alpha in Beacon Hills other than your boyfriend’s pack.” Which can’t be a good thing. “Do you think that’s what they wanted all along? That they’ve done something to take over? I might not like Hale or McCall all that much, but that one Alpha was not someone I’d want to stick around.”

“What do you suggest we do about it?” Danny holds up his phone. “I haven’t been able to get in touch with anyone all day, so something’s going on and it’s happening now.” He glances at the window, laughs dryly. “And there’s a storm. Welcome to Beacon Hills.”

There’s anxiety, too, which Jackson doesn’t mention, but it’s there again, pricking him under his skin. All he does is sit on the bed next to Danny, lean into him until Danny’s hand comes up, touches the back of his neck and the collar that’s hidden under the edge of his hoodie. “I don’t know what we need to do. Maybe we should go back to the stump?” Jackson isn’t sure whether they can find it this time, either, but he’s positive it has something to do with what’s wrong. And the day’s slipping away, the storm rising, and it leaves him feeling helpless.

“We can go find the stump.” Danny doesn’t say _try to_ , his voice firm and positive. He goes over to the desk, pulls out the maps that he made and rolls them open, looking at the red currents traced over the boundaries of Beacon Hills. Grabbing a pencil, Danny circles the space of the Preserve, and Jackson leans in next to him to look at the details within that boundary.

Jackson taps a spot on the map, not a nexus of lines, but a space within an interlocking circle of lines. “That’s where Hale’s house was.”

“You’ve been there?” Danny leans back, and Jackson shrugs.

“Once. I don’t think it matters now. So you’re thinking the stump will be at a nexus?” He leans past Danny again, finger on the map, tracing the lines until he finds the darkest point, the biggest intersection. “Like here.”

“Like there.” Danny notes the coordinates in his GPS, shows it to Jackson. “If we’re right, it should be easy to find this time. Let’s go.”

They head downstairs just as Danny’s mother is coming in the front door. They all meet in the hall, and they stop and look at her while she looks at them, gaze dropping to the keys in Danny’s hand.

“There’s another storm coming through.” Her tone is mild, although Jackson is positive that the words have an underlying message that they should get back upstairs where it’s safe.

“Our friends need help,” Danny says, and maybe Jackson should let Danny do all the talking because he says _friends_ with a straight face. Hell, he looks earnest and concerned. Jackson holds in the snort that wants to sneak free, biting his tongue.

“I take it that it’s a werewolf problem?” Her gaze falls to Jackson, and he realizes that his mother has never actually said the word aloud, never referred to it that specifically.

He nods once, slowly. “I can feel that something’s wrong, and we think we can fix it.” Half a lie, but it’s not like she can hear the way his heart skips or smell the sour anxiety that drifts over his skin. “We need to talk to Derek.” He assumes that his mother told Danny’s mother about Derek’s importance in Jackson’s life, and it’s not like they know he hasn’t seen Derek in months now.

She considers him, and Jackson almost smiles, almost _smirks_ just like he usually would. Danny sets one hand on Jackson’s shoulder, fingers curled over the meat of it, squeezing slightly. Mrs. Mahealani shifts her gaze, looks at that touch, tilts her head. “You will text me when you get where you’re going and if you’re staying. Let me know when to expect you home. And stay safe.”

“I won’t let anything hurt Danny,” Jackson says as they pass her in the narrow space.

“I meant you, too,” she says, and it warms him just a little to think that someone might actually care.

The wind is brutal, the rain coming down with thick drops that skitter sideways as soon as they hit the windshield. The moon is near rising, and it’s already dark; Jackson can feel it under his skin, intermingling with the anxiety and calling to the wolf. He breaths slow and easy, focuses inward to keep his wolf at bay as he cradles Danny’s phone in his hand, watching the map.

When he hears a scream, he drops the phone, reaches out to grab Danny’s thigh, gripping tightly. “Stop the car.”

Danny skids to the side of the road. “What?”

“The scream.” It’s fading now, but Jackson can still hear it ringing in his ears, as if it came from somewhere nearby. Lydia. He _knows_ that it was Lydia, but he has no idea what she’s screaming about or why he can hear her. “Lydia’s in trouble.”

Danny shakes his head; Jackson’s positive that Danny didn’t hear the same scream he did, but he trusts Danny to believe him that it happened. “Do we go to her house?” Danny asks. He hasn’t started the car moving, the hazard lights blinking, rain coming down hard enough to feel like thunder inside the car.

Jackson leans down, fishes around on the floor until he comes up with the phone, the GPS map still on the screen. They could either head back past Danny’s place to Lydia’s or keep going forward to wherever the stump is. “The stump,” he says slowly. “I think that’s where we need to be. Lydia probably has Allison with her. She’s going to be okay. The stump smelled like death, and I don’t trust that. Plus, if Lydia’s been drawing a tree and it has anything to do with it, she’ll end up there.” He sounds more positive than he feels, the anxiety adding to the worry that he could be making the wrong decision and maybe somebody’s going to end up dead.

“Stump it is.” Danny puts the car back into drive and pulls out, almost fish-tailing in the slick of water on the road. Jackson gives directions as Danny drives slower, trying to see through the blinding rain.

Jackson sees a flicker of something through the rain. “Hey wait.” He reaches out, grabs Danny’s arm, points just off the road. There are lights, and a bright blue Jeep up against a tree. “Stilinski.” They pull up, spill out of Danny’s car and hurry to the Jeep to make sure Stilinski’s okay.

It’s not good, but it’s not bad, either. The front end of the Jeep is dented without being crushed, and there’s no sign of an air bag. Of course, the thing’s probably old enough that it never had one to begin with. And Stiles… well, he’s breathing, even if he’s got blood dripping down his face from a cut over his eye.

“He probably needs a hospital. Someone’s going to need to check him for a concussion,” Jackson mutters, his fingers pressed against the steady pulse in Stiles’s throat that he can both hear and feel. “Wake up, Stilinski. I don’t know where you were going, but I’m pretty sure you aren’t going to get there by going through a tree. There’s no wall to run into so you can get to a magical train.”

“Hogwarts,” Stiles mutters under his breath and he can’t be that bad off if he actually got the reference Jackson made.

Danny pats Stiles’s face, lets his hand fall when Stiles’s head lolls over to the other side, eyes still closed. “Help me get him out of here,” he orders, and together they manage to yank the dented door open. Jackson gets behind Stiles while Danny tugs him from the front, Stiles falling into Danny’s chest, held up on loose legs.

“Danny?” Stiles blinks at him, pats his face. “Danny, what are you doing here?”

Crap. Jackson gestures, trying to get Danny to understand to distract him while Jackson quickly strips. He drops his clothes in the mud, shoving jeans and underwear down at the same time, stripping his t-shirt off with the hoodie.

“Saving your ass,” Danny says. “Because you obviously shouldn’t be driving in this weather.”

“No one should,” Stiles says sagely. “But sometimes you just have to do things… wasn’t there someone else with you?” Stiles turns around, but Jackson is already on all fours, furry and his tail wagging as the rain soaks him.

“You hit your head pretty hard. You were probably dazed. Dreaming.” Danny manages to keep a straight face, and Jackson whuffs. He can hear something now—a high-pitched, an electronic whine—and he remembers the sound. He remembers running from it in the past, but now it’s the only thing that stands out in the woods.

He pads past Stiles and Danny, turns to look back at them and barks sharply. Between the scent of death and the whine, he knows where to go.

“Kula, we should get Stiles help.” Danny’s voice is low, firm. And he’s right, Jackson knows that. Stiles needs a hospital and someone shining a light in his eyes to see if his pupils dilate and change. But at the same time, there’s still death out there, and it almost sounds like someone’s offering a path to follow.

“It’s okay, I have something I need to do. Someone I need to find.” Stiles pushes away from Danny, takes two steps before he stumbles. “Maybe your dog can help.” Stiles seems to steady himself, heads back to the Jeep with careful steps. He reaches into it, pulls out a baseball bat and a uniform shirt and shoves the shirt under Jackson’s nose.

He tastes the scent of the Sheriff, vivid and strong, and he whuffs once. It’s not the scent he’ll be following, although he knows already that the Sheriff is where they’re going. Jackson is just pretty sure that he has his own way of getting there. The scent will give him confirmation.

“Good boy.” Stiles pats him on the head. “Kula, right? Good boy, Kula.”

_Good boy_. Like he’s an actual dog. Jackson growls softly, and Stiles pulls his hand back.

“Be careful, sometimes he bites.” Danny wedges an arm under Stiles’s shoulder. “And you don’t seem very steady on your feet. You sure you want to keep going?”

“Have to,” Stiles says, and he follows as Jackson starts to lead them, following the sound and scent into the Preserve.

It’s tempting to nip at Stiles, just to prove that he _does_ bite, but this isn’t the time. Jackson can feel the worry and urgency rolling off of Stiles. They’re all cold and wet, and Stiles is stumbling, letting Danny help hold him up. His steps grow more sure as they travel, but Jackson still doesn’t think he’s up to one hundred percent, not with the blood dripping down his face.

It’s not like he can say anything, but he offers a concerned whine, and leans against Danny’s leg to get his attention.

“You smell hurt,” Danny says, and Stiles laughs.

“Danny boy, in the past twenty-four hours I have drowned, died, been resurrected, and crashed my beloved Jeep,” Stiles tells him. “Now I’m following you and a dog through the Preserve so I can manage to save my father before he’s killed by a dark druid. This has _not_ been a very good day, and let me tell you, this is actually the part where things are looking up.” He’s walking on his own, hands shoved in his pockets, and he looks over at Danny, brows drawn together. “I still swear there was someone else that helped me get out of the Jeep. Thank you for that.”

Danny pats Stiles’s shoulder. “Head wound, you must have been hallucinating. It was just a dream.”

Jackson snorts loudly, then sneezes. The death scent, it’s stronger here, almost overwhelming.

Stiles stops, extracts himself from Danny’s hold. “That’s it, that’s the Nemeton. I made it.”

Danny catches Stiles’s shoulder, fingers gripping tightly. “We can go with you. You’re not in good shape.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Stiles disengages carefully, switches the grip so he has both of Danny’s shoulders in his hands. He gives Danny a little shake. “You don’t want to get involved with this, Danny. I’m talking life or death, the kind of shit that goes on around Beacon Hills after dark, and I don’t mean hanging out at Jungle. Thank you for helping me find the Nemeton, but you should get out of here. Stay safe. Take your dog with you.”

The anxiety sends Jackson skittering to the edge of the clearing. He won’t leave here without Danny, but the scent of death is stronger, the electronic whine in his ears is almost overwhelming, and between the moon and the anxiety he’s ready to run. He barks sharply, then again when Danny just stands there looking at Stiles.

“You should try to stay safe, too,” Danny says quietly, and Stiles just laughs, bright and loud.

“Oh fuck, that ship sailed so long ago.” Stiles shakes his head, hefts the bat in one hand, testing the way it smacks down against his other palm. “Safe is a dream, Danny. I’m going to just settle for alive. So get out of here and let me rescue my dad and not have to worry about rescuing you, too.”

Jackson can get on board with that. Stiles has whatever it is under control; he can be the cavalry, and Jackson can grab at Danny’s jeans with his teeth and tug back sharply. He barks again. _Let’s go_.

Stiles walks away, breaking into a run as soon as he’s a few steps away, and Danny sighs. “Come on, Kula. Let’s go home.”

They walk back through the rain and the whipping wind. At the Jeep, Jackson shifts into human form long enough to turn off the lights and engine, leaving the keys on the seat. He grabs his muddy clothes and drops them in the back seat of Danny’s car before he shifts back into Kula and jumps into the front passenger seat and waits for Danny.

“I called in the accident, just said I saw the Jeep.” Danny drops his phone, reaches to tangle his fingers in Jackson’s ruff, squeezing gently. “We’re going home. There isn’t anything else we can do here, and tomorrow—tomorrow’s another day, and maybe someone will tell us what’s going on.”

Stiles owes them a favor, and Jackson intends to call it in somehow. They’ll get the truth out of him. He owes them that at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are, right around the end of the first half of season 3! Things just get more complicated for our boys going forward. Thank you so much for joining me on the journey so far, and I hope you continue to enjoy as Jackson moves ahead.
> 
> The next part will be posted on Sunday, May 29th. Until then, I'll see you [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	16. Chapter 16

Ethan shows up while Danny and Jackson are in the middle of eating breakfast. Jackson catches his scent as soon as Danny opens the door, and he heads upstairs without a word. He comes down a moment later, sees them sitting in the living room, and pauses to make sure Ethan doesn’t turn around to see him. He holds up one hand with his keys, silently showing Danny that he’s taking his own fucking car out to go somewhere, because whatever is going on there, Jackson doesn’t want to be around for it.

He wants to tell Danny not to be an idiot, to cut Ethan loose. But he can’t say that, not without explaining more than the usual _he’s dangerous_ and _I don’t like him_. So he leaves, instead, because Jackson knows that he gets to come back later, no matter what happened.

His car is parked on the street a few blocks down, but he figures that now that Danny’s parents know he’s here, maybe he’ll move it to their driveway when he returns. No one’s going to think much of it, especially if he parks it far enough back that it’s out of view of the street.

It’s funny how good it feels to think that he’s starting to live here. To belong here.

He takes the car into the industrial area, heads straight for Derek’s building. Whatever was wrong yesterday is still wrong today, and it still feels odd under his skin not to feel that pull toward the wolf who bit him. He has no idea where in the building Derek lives, but he figures his nose will lead the way, so he parks, gets out and walks in.

The building has an industrial feel, as if it started out life as a multi-level manufacturing plant or a warehouse and hasn’t been updated yet. It reeks of concrete and old steel, enough to make Jackson’s nose wrinkle even in human form. The first floor seems semi-finished, the lobby dark but clean, a desk at the front with no one manning it, but the furniture is new and freshly dusted. Two hallways lead back and Jackson decides to explore, finding the scent of fresh concrete and wallboard, new construction behind high arched doorways, the paint still fresh and new.

Someone is renovating the building, and these spaces look like they’ll be common areas. A rec hall, perhaps, or other gathering spaces. Jackson wonders if the entire building is destined to become apartments, and if Derek was able to get in cheaply by being willing to move in while construction is happening.

It’s better than the burnt husk of the old Hale house, at least.

He heads back to the elevator, leans in close to the number keypad and closes his eyes before he inhales. His fingers drift just above the keys, and he presses the one that smells like Derek and Cora and a small hint of Isaac. The elevator rises with a creak, and he leans against the wall, hands on the railing to hold himself up, head tilted back.

His heart is racing at the idea of reaching out, making contact. Even if something’s changed, even if Derek isn’t an alpha anymore, he’s still a part of Beacon Hills that has no idea that Jackson is here. He’s still a part of the life Jackson had _before_.

The elevator stops a solid inch below the floor, the doors sticking until Jackson yanks them open. Someone has a hell of a lot of work to do on this building, but at least it seems like there’s no one living here other than Derek.

If it weren’t for the new construction on the first floor, Jackson would think that Derek is a squatter, moved into an abandoned space and claiming it as his own.

He follows his nose to the only door on the hallway, a heavy metal sliding monstrosity. He raises his hand, lets it fall again back to his side, finger clenching tightly, then releasing. There are footsteps inside, and he takes a quick breath, raises his hand again, and raps sharply three times on the door.

It slides open before his hand can fall away, and Cora stands there, staring at him. Her quick smile is sharp with teeth, expression fierce more than welcoming. “Jackson.”

“Is Derek here?” He fights for composure, fights to keep from flashing his eyes, challenging Cora. He crosses his arms, widens his stance, rocking back on his heels. It’s a deliberate move, keeping him able to explode into movement if he needs to, but with his arms tight, he looks like he’s holding still.

Cora moves slowly, cranes her head to look over her own shoulder into the loft. It’s an open space, with stairs leading down into the main area, and a bed visible in the distance. There’s a living room set and a coffee table, and strangely enough, a hole in one wall. There’s also a spiral staircase, leading up to the next floor. It reeks of familiar scents, Derek and Cora most of all.

She looks back at him, head cocked. “He’s not here.” They stand there, staring at each other until she takes one step back, making space. “Come on in, Jackson. I don’t want to stand here with the door open.”

He walks in slowly, taking in the space. It’s huge, and he wonders if the hole in the wall is meant to open it up into the next space to expand, or if it’s a mistake, waiting to be filled in. “Nice place,” he says dryly, and Cora looks around, blinking.

“It’s not bad, but it’s not home,” she says slowly. “And I’m ready to get out of here and go home.” Her hands fall to her hips as she looks over at him. “We should probably do the introductions right this time. I’m Cora Hale. Derek’s my older brother, and until recently, I thought he was dead.”

“Jackson Whittemore, and most of the time, I’m a wolf.” Jackson holds his hand out and she takes it, squeezing with a werewolf-born strength. “Did you tell Derek about me?”

She gives him a look before rolling her eyes. “What makes you think he’s had time to care about whether you’re around? We’ve been chasing a dark druid, I nearly died, and Derek gave up his Alpha spark to save my life. We’ve been a bit busy, while you’ve been chasing your tail.”

“Actually, Danny and I yanked Stilinski out of a wrecked car and got him to the stump,” Jackson counters. He’s not going to bother explaining that he’s missing several points of information about what a dark druid is, or why the stump was important and smelled of people’s parents. From the way Stiles was talking, he figures it had to be significant.

Cora turns slowly, regarding him full on. “So Stiles knows you’re around?”

“Not really, no.” Jackson glares at her. “And it’s going to stay that way.”

She accepts that with a small tilt of her head, walks away into the kitchenette and goes searching in the fridge. She comes back out with two bottles of water and tosses one to him. “I should be a good host. And that’s fine, I haven’t told anyone about you and your ancient car, or that you’re the dog driving Lydia nuts because she keeps seeing you around. I think she might think you’re a ghost by now.” Cora twists the cap off and takes a long drink of water. “I don’t think you should tell Derek you’re here.”

Jackson frowns. “Because he still wants to get rid of me?” It still stings that Derek told his parents to take him away from Beacon Hills.

“Because Derek doesn’t need anything else to worry about.” Cora twists the cap back on, sets the bottle down on the counter. Jackson has his bottle in his hands, the condensation on the plastic making his palms moist.

“Derek’s taking me home to Brazil,” Cora says. A wave of her hand keeps Jackson from asking any more questions. “I ended up fostered with a pack there after the fire, and I was happy to stay there until the Alpha pack pulled me into this mess. I thought everyone was dead. No one told me that Derek, Laura, and Peter survived. I thought I was the last Hale, and I made a whole new life for myself. I want to go back to that.”

She holds out one hand, palm up, and Jackson stares at it.

“Phone,” she says, and when he doesn’t move, she sighs and reaches into her pocket with her other hand, yanking out a phone. She holds it out to him, her empty palm still waiting until he sets his phone in her hand.

He programs his number in without her asking, takes a selfie to attach to the contact, and they trade phones back.

“You and I, however, are going to keep in touch.” She checks the contact on her phone, nods approvingly and tucks it in her pocket. She’s put herself into Jackson’s phone with no image, just her name and number. “Derek thinks you’re safe, and as long as you keep out of the center of the mess, you’ll stay that way. You’re worried about Danny, and you can protect him. Keep him away from Ethan, and if you can, try to get him to convince Lydia to stay away from Aiden. He’s an asshole.”

“And why are we going to keep in touch?” Jackson shoves the phone in his hoodie pocket and leans back against the counter, leaving his water bottle there, unopened.

“Because I want someone to keep me in the loop about Beacon Hills, and I know that when Derek makes it back here—assuming he comes back—he won’t tell me the truth about what’s going on. And this seems like the kind of place where something is always going on.” Cora shrugs. “We’re protective, and he thinks that since I’m going home, I’ll stay out of trouble. But if he needs me, I’ll be on a plane back here. He might figure that out by the time we finish our road trip—family bonding time. Or he might not. Besides.”

There’s a small smirk tilting the corner of her mouth. “You barely got started on Werewolf 101 before you ‘left’ and I think there’s still more you want to know. Not to mention that you can shift better than almost any werewolf I know—myself and Derek included. Our mom could shift all the way to a wolf, but that talent’s rare.”

“I’m the best,” Jackson tells her. He leaves out the fact that he knows of at least one other person who can do the same, since as long as she’s still a coyote, no one is really going to care.

“We’re going to be friends.” Cora pats his chest. “Because I’m not at all impressed by you, Jackson Whittemore. I don’t care about your family’s money, I don’t care that you used to be a lacrosse captain until Scott came along, I don’t _care_ about anything other than whatever’s going on in your life now. And since you decided to walk away from your life completely, I figure you might value that neutrality.”

Her head tilts, and when Jackson listens, he can hear it, too: a car just parked right out front.

“Derek’s home. Take the stairs down, and don’t come back. It’s going to be a long time before he’s back in Beacon Hills.” Cora puts her hands on his shoulders, turns him toward the door and pushes.

Jackson digs his heels in, lets her get him to the door but not without difficulty. “Why don’t you just stick around and protect Derek yourself?”

She laughs, and the sound is soft and dry and a little sad. “Because it’s been a long time since the fire, Jackson. Most of my life, really, at least most of the parts I remember. And the family I have in Brazil is more _family_ to me right now than Derek is. I made a place for myself, and then I got ripped away like some kind of pawn to use against Derek and maybe I resent him a little for that. Maybe I need to deal with all of this on my own terms and in my own time. You ought to understand that, right?”

Jackson does understand that. He turns back toward her, grasps her hand and squeezes it.

“Jesus, just hug already,” she mutters under her breath, then drags him and squeezes hard, hand clapping against his shoulder. She pushes him away almost as quickly, yanking the door open and shoving him through. In the hall, Jackson can hear the rattle of the elevator, and Cora points down the hall in the other direction. “Stairs,” she says.

Jackson makes it into the stairwell as the elevator squeaks to a halt, and he hears Cora greeting Derek with a fond insult, hears their almost easy banter that sounds as if they’re feeling each other out, trying to relearn how to talk. He knows he shouldn’t be jealous, but at the same time, he is. Because no matter how odd it feels, no matter how off-kilter she is, Cora’s found something he’ll never have: a family by blood.

But at the same time, he can’t blame her for walking away from it.

He tries to keep his step quiet as he heads down the stairs so Derek won’t hear him, won’t wonder what he missed. So Derek won’t find out he’s still in Beacon Hills.

#

Ethan’s bike is gone by the time Jackson gets back to Danny’s house. Jackson pulls into the driveway, then down the side of the house, almost to the back. He parks the car, looks at it sitting there in all its crappy glory like it belongs here, and realizes that this is home now. He’s been invited in, and he belongs here as much as he belongs anywhere these days.

Maybe he should get his own damned key.

He knocks on the back door but steps away before it opens. There’s a rumble of a car engine approaching, and he frowns, because it sounds familiar.

Oh.

“Did you want to come in, Kula?” Danny’s voice is dry. “I thought I heard you scratching at the back door.”

Jackson raises one finger in Danny’s direction. “Ha ha. Lydia’s coming.”

A soft catch in Danny’s breath. “Get inside and get upstairs. I’ll deal with her.”

There’s no point in going upstairs, not when he can hide behind four feet and a muzzle. Jackson walks into the kitchen, yanks his t-shirt over his head and drops it on the back of his chair. He toes off his shoes, pushes down his pants, and is just shaking his fur out after finishing his transformation when the doorbell rings.

“I’m coming in,” Lydia says as soon as Danny opens the door. She pushes past him, stops in the living room when she sees Jackson sitting on the floor, his tongue lolling as he pants.

He lowers his head, lies down and looks at her.

“You,” she says quietly, sinking down into a crouch. Jackson stands slowly, glances at Danny.

“Up to you, Kula,” Danny says. He closes the door and heads for the couch, settling in as if to watch the show. Jackson snorts; he is not there for Danny’s amusement.

Jackson pads forward, noses into Lydia’s hand, and stands quietly when she strokes over his head, threads her fingers into his ruff.

“I heard that you two brought Stiles to the Nemeton,” Lydia says softly. “They rescued his father, Scott’s mother, and Allison’s father before the cave under the roots collapsed. Thank you for that.” She brings her other hand up with a jingling sound, and Jackson goes still, spotting the charm bracelet circling her wrist. Her lips purse and she twists her hand, putting it close to his nose.

“This?” she asks. “Is this what caught your attention? I’m not surprised.” She stands, hands on her hips as she looks down at Jackson. He sits, trying to look as doglike as possible while Lydia rolls her eyes.

“Don’t even bother, Jackson,” she says sharply. “Aiden told me he smelled another wolf on it. And I know you were there when it showed up on my doorstep after I lost it. Not to mention that Stiles said there was someone else with Danny to get him out of the car, someone who disappeared as if he had only imagined it. But Danny had his dog with him, his Kula. And really, it doesn’t take much to start adding up all the potential variables and realize that there is only one possible or even probable way to solve this particular equation. And I refuse to speak with you like this. I have no idea how you’ve done this, but it’s hardly the most impossible thing I’ve seen this week. So change back, Jackson, and speak to me like the human I know you are.”

It shouldn’t be possible, but this is _Lydia_ and Jackson can’t fault her intelligence. Honestly, he’s surprised that Stiles hasn’t managed to figure it out as well. He glances at Danny, growls softly so that Danny sits back down after having half-risen from the couch. He huffs a soft sound, sits back on his haunches and shakes his head.

She wants him to transform? Then fine, he’ll transform.

The change is easier and easier now, as if both skins are natural. He flows back into human form, pushes back to stand fluidly, arms crossed and head tilted as he looks at her, daring her to say something.

She’s pale, her heartbeat quick. Perhaps she was just pushing buttons and didn’t actually expect it to work, but he knows Lydia Martin will never admit that. He just smirks slowly, rewarded when her mouth opens slightly but she says nothing.

“Always knew I made you speechless,” he says, and turns to walk into the kitchen, pushing through the door and letting it swing closed behind him.

He can’t quite make out the hushed whisper of Lydia’s voice, but Danny’s dry laugh is clear. “Clothes,” Danny says, voice low and dark, and Jackson rolls his eyes at the order because why the fuck else would he have left the room? “Yes, he’s always like that,” Danny continues for Lydia’s benefit, and there’s a soft thump as she takes a seat on the couch next to him.

“He looks even better,” she says softly, and Danny laughs again.

“He knows.”

Jackson yanks up his boxers and jeans, fastens them and carries the shirt with him as he pads barefoot back into the living room. “You wanted to talk.”

“Don’t be an asshole about this,” Lydia says quietly. “You’re the one who left.”

“Actually, I never did.”

“You let me believe you did.” Her voice is sharp and low, each word clipped. “You slunk around my house like a kicked puppy and let me believe that you _left_. You didn’t trust me enough to tell me anything, Jackson. So tell me why I shouldn’t be an asshole now. Tell me why you deserve for me to be anything else.”

Jackson takes the time to pull his shirt over his head, stretch it down over his body until it lies flat. Until he’s clothed like a human being again. Then he sits down in the chair, avoiding getting too close to where Lydia sits on the couch. “I needed to figure things out and you didn’t seem like you needed me.” He picks the words carefully, knowing just how much of a minefield this might be. He loved Lydia wholeheartedly—probably still loves her somewhere deep inside—but they fought often and he’s not sure they ever really were themselves with each other. “I tried to watch out for you. And you were better off without me here.”

He doesn’t say that he was better off without her; they both know that’s the implied end of the sentence, but he doesn’t need to push the knife in deeper. They are both capable of making fatal wounds with words, but he wants to be able to recover from this.

He wants to be friends with her again.

“So what now?” Lydia sits back, legs crossed at the knees, hands folded in her lap.

“Nothing’s changed.” Jackson inhales, tastes that the anxiety in the air has lessened. Her heartbeat is still rapid, but evenly paced, calmer. “It’s not like I’m coming back to Beacon Hills and going back to high school.”

One delicate eyebrow arches as she regards him, and he hears the almost unvoiced snort from Danny. “Oh?” she asks. “Are you just going to throw your life away, Jackson? No more plans to be a lawyer, or get a swim scholarship? Are you happy to leave the lacrosse team to Scott?”

It’s a series of several small digs, each one a flesh wound scraped across his skin. Jackson smiles thinly, counters in kind. “What about you, Lydia? Still dating a homicidal werewolf? Cora told me what he did.”

“You talked to Cora?” Both of Lydia’s eyebrows rise and she leans forward, calm facade sliding away.

“I’ve got her number,” Jackson admits, letting himself lean back and sink into the chair. “Derek doesn’t know I’m here, and that’s going to stay that way. Cora knows. You. Deaton. Danny and his parents. That’s it, Lydia. I’m not really here. I’m just this new dog in Danny’s house. And I’m fine with that. I don’t care about school. I just…” He doesn’t know how to explain it, doesn’t want to admit to the nightmares that still wake him up sometimes.

“Jackson’s a work in progress,” Danny says, and Lydia huffs a small laugh.

“Well, that’s always been true,” she agrees.

“I’m right here.” He spreads his hands and they both look at him, and somehow that’s what makes them all start laughing. Heartbeats tick up and a scent of pleasure and contentment spreads through the room, and Jackson is finally able to fully relax.

“I’m not going to tell the pack,” Lydia finally says. “They think Danny doesn’t know, and they think he’s safer that way.”

“It’s safe to let him date a murderous werewolf without telling him?” Jackson says dryly because he might not be the best protector, but he’s pretty sure _that_ is a major oversight.

“We broke up.”

Jackson glances over and Danny raises a hand. “Not a word,” Danny tells him. “Ethan and Aiden are leaving. So we broke up. And you don’t get to say _good,_ because I liked him. And he liked me.”

Jackson bites his tongue, manages not to reply to that, because both of his friends are hurt by the twins leaving. Although Lydia looks down, then glances at the wall, and Jackson’s sure there’s something she’s still not telling them. She’ll tell them in her own good time, he figures.

In the meantime, she can fill in some of the blanks.

“So,” Jackson says. “Dark druids, Cora nearly dying, Stiles dying… stumps… think you can fill in some of the blanks, Lydia?”

“We should probably start with the fact that I’m a banshee.” Lydia’s smile is weak, slightly uncertain, and she reaches to touch the bruising at her throat with the words. Jackson rises slowly, moves with careful steps until he drops onto the couch on her other side. When her hand falls on his knee, he slides closer, hip to hip, offering his presence for solidity.

Maybe Lydia has her own pack, but Jackson still considers her a part of his, possibly, in some way. She was too important to him for too long to be anything else.

“And Jackson should tell you about living in the woods and chasing deer.” Danny moves closer on Lydia’s other side, and she laughs a little and reaches for both of their hands. It’s easier then, once they’re linked, and the conversation flows back and forth as Jackson and Lydia fill in the blanks in each other’s past few weeks. It all makes more sense with the missing pieces, and there are moments where Danny and Lydia spin off on tangents, discussing the telluric currents, or the deeper meaning of the Nemeton.

Somewhere in the middle of the conversation, Danny goes to get his laptop, brings it back and props it on his knees, taking notes and opening tabs to look at later. Lydia relaxes slowly, leaning into Jackson as he puts his arm around her shoulders. There’s no tension in the movement, no expectation; it’s as simple and easy as curling up with the coyote in the cave.

That’s the one thing Jackson leaves out of the narrative—he doubts she wants to be noticed, and he doesn’t plan on letting the pack know there’s another shapeshifter in their midst as long as she’s not bothering anyone.

In the end, Jackson makes sure that Lydia has his number in her phone properly, and she labels him as _champagne jerk_ which makes him laugh. When she raises the phone for a picture, he lifts his middle finger, leaving her with a closeup of his hand and a hint of his jawline behind it. No one could recognize him from the image, and she rolls her eyes at the look of it. “My favorite asshole,” she says dryly.

“What about Aiden?” Jackson catches the way Danny flinches slightly in the background, and Lydia’s gaze drops, a hint of regret infusing her scent. “Never mind. I don’t want to talk about the twins.”

Lydia squeezes his knee, rises from the couch. “You and I need to keep in touch. No one will be surprised if I’m talking to Danny at school, of course, and if anyone happens to figure out that I’m texting _you_ , they’ll just assume you’re still in London. But Beacon Hills is too dangerous for us to be completely on our own, and as much as I love Scott and Stiles and Allison, sometimes they are too unaware of what’s going on around them.”

“Derek’s leaving,” Jackson says, realizing that he forgot to mention it.

Lydia tenses, inhales slowly. “Hopefully he’ll be back. Scott still needs a mentor. He might be a True Alpha now, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to lead the pack. And I certainly don’t want Peter thinking that he deserves to step into those shoes.” Her lips press tight and thin. “I’ve managed to avoid him this long. I don’t want that to change because Derek Hale skips out on his responsibilities.”

“I’ll be sure to mention that to Cora.”

“I’ll tell her myself.” Lydia pulls Jackson close to hug him first, then Danny. “Take care of yourself. And if you stop by when you’re furry, don’t be offended when I don’t let you in. You know how Prada feels about other dogs.” She pats his shoulder, picks up her bag to put it over her shoulder. He catches the scent of tension sliding back under her skin, knows that she’s steeling herself to leave.

They let her go after another round of hugs, and Jackson waits until he hears her car pull out of the driveway.

Danny has his laptop closed, and is picking up a glass from the table. “Want to order pizza?” Jackson asks, but Danny shakes his head.

“I’m not really hungry. I’m just going to clean up here and head upstairs.” Danny’s words are carefully even, but Jackson can feel the tension, the way it pricks at his skin. He walks over, nudges his shoulder into Danny’s.

“I’m going to go out,” Jackson says quietly. “And when I come back, you’ll have Netflix set up in your room, and we’ll pick something out to watch.”

“Anything but _The Notebook_?” Danny says with a small laugh. He glances at the door. “I’m sure we could watch that, if you want to call Lydia and tell her to come back.”

“ _Anything_ but _The Notebook_.” Jackson shudders. “Anything’s better than that, Danny. Your choice tonight.” He goes into the kitchen, finds his keys and shoves them in his pocket. When he glances back, Danny’s still standing there and the waves of misery make Jackson feel vaguely ill. He wonders how Danny has been holding it back, keeping that at bay while they were with Lydia, and at the same time, he feels strangely honored that Danny’s willing to let down his walls so abruptly and so far.

“I’ll be back in less than half an hour,” he says, and he walks out the door.

His little shitbox of a car doesn’t go nearly as fast as the Porsche, but it gets him around and he manages to make it to the store and back in twenty-five minutes, two pints of ice cream in hand. He pauses long enough in the kitchen to grab two spoons, then takes the stairs quickly to Danny’s room.

Jackson falls on the bed, drops the spoons between them, and holds out the two pints. “Chunky Monkey or Cherry Garcia.” Danny takes the Cherry Garcia, and Jackson opens the pint left in his hand and digs in. After two bites, Danny steals a spoonful out of Jackson’s pint and Jackson lets him. He’s not going to argue over comfort ice cream.

After a few more bites, Jackson leans back against the bed, glances over at the TV where the Roku screensaver has kicked on. “What are we watching?”

Danny picks up the remote and clicks it to wake up the TV and start the show, then goes back his ice cream.

“ _Veronica Mars_ , huh?” Jackson nudges Danny. “You have a thing for this show because Logan reminds you of me.”

“There’s a difference.” Danny’s voice is tight, and Jackson can still taste the misery, but it’s not as sharp. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but Jackson can tell that Danny is trying to shake it off, and he’ll do anything he needs to do in order to help.

“Oh?” Jackson gestures with his spoon as the credits roll. “What does Logan Echolls have that I don’t?”

Danny glances over at Jackson, his expression bland but amusement finally lighting his eyes. “Logan Echolls is _totally_ my type,” he says dryly before bursting into a quick laugh when Jackson swats at him, smacking his chest.

“Asshole,” Jackson says, leaning into Danny, feeling the laugh that still vibrates through his chest, settling him.

Netflix and ice cream, the solution to any dating disaster. Jackson just hopes Ethan doesn’t come back; he doesn’t want to have to keep picking up these pieces again and again. Someday Danny’s going to find a guy that doesn’t make Jackson want to bite him. Someday he’ll find a guy who actually deserves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and happy Sunday! If you're in the US, I hope you're enjoying the three day weekend. And if you're in the Northeast US, stay hydrated, enjoy the heat, and avoid the storms! For me, it's summer, so I'm at the campground (holy f it's crowded here) and trying to squeeze words in around the family time and dog time.
> 
> If anyone's ever curious what I'm working on currently (remember, this story is completed and being posted weekly while I work on other projects, including the sequel), find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)! All asks are always welcome (and yes, Anonymous is turned on), whether about fanfic, my new original work, or life in general. 
> 
> So many <3 to you all. I hope you are still enjoying the story, and thank you so much for all your support!!


	17. Chapter 17

_I’m bored. Talk to me._

The buzzing of the phone cuts through the almost-sleeping early morning fugue that wraps around Jackson’s brain. He reaches out, feels like his hand cuts through water, and he gasps in air as he reads the text, fights for coherency and wakefulness. _I was sleeping_ , he replies to Cora.

_I’ve been on the road for six hours already today, and Derek and I have run out of things to talk about. He told me to use my phone to talk to someone else. Everyone’s in school. Entertain me, wolf boy._

There’s a thin layer of sweat coating Jackson’s skin, and he sits up slowly, pulling damp sheets away from himself. He swings his legs over and sits on the edge of the bed, feet against the cold floor, Danny’s sleep pants discarded in a small pile nearby, his t-shirt dangling over the edge of the hamper. It’s already eight in the morning, but Jackson feels like he’s barely awake.

_I had another nightmare_.

It’s easy to say the words to Cora. She’s not here, she’s not coming back any time soon, and he doesn’t have to look her in the eye. It’s made her an easy person to talk to, and he gets the feeling it’s the same for her talking to him. They’ve learned a lot about each other while she’s been in a car with Derek, on her way to Bauru in Saó Paulo, Brazil.

_Drowning again? You need to get your ass to the pool and get back in the water already._

He sets the phone down on the bed, stands and stretches slowly. His arms drag through the air, as if he’s still underwater. He knows he’s awake, but the effects of the dream linger in his mind. He reaches out, grabs for Danny’s sleep pants, brings them to his nose and inhales Danny’s scent before he tosses them on the bed. His own sweats hang over the back of Danny’s desk chair, and Jackson drags those on, lets them hang on his hips before he grabs his phone and moves down the stairs.

_I will. Eventually. It’s not that bad._

He hasn’t spent a lot of time with Cora in person, but she’s sent him enough Snapchats of her eyeroll that he can imagine it now. He sets the phone down on the counter, hunts for something to eat and drink while he ignores the near constant buzzing of notifications and repeat notifications.

_Oh it’s not, is it? How many does that make this month?_

_Or this week?_

_Jackson, I’m a nightmare specialist. I used to wake up screaming and thinking I was on fire._

_I told you this, remember? It takes time to get over it, but you have to face your fear._

He’s not in the mood for this, so he picks up the phone and taps out a response before he considers it well enough. _So how did you face yours? Did you have someone set the house on fire while you slept?_

He regrets it as soon as he sends it, feels the tips of his ears go hot. _I’m sorry_ , he sends only a moment later.

Jackson manages to finish his breakfast and get the dishes in the dishwasher, starting it up, before his phone buzzes again.

_No, you’re not. You’re a prickly asshole is what you are. And you’re just pissed off because you’re too scared to do something you like_.

The annoying thing is, she’s got a point. He hates the nightmares. Hates waking into air and feeling like he’s got water in his lungs, hates the sensation of falling through water, not knowing which way is up. He hates the way the dreams drag at him, pull him down like he drown in his sleep. But every time he thinks about getting back in that pool—about being the same Jackson Whittemore who was captain of the Beacon Hills High swim team—he feels the same panic bubble up.

_I’ll do it when I’m ready. Let’s talk about something else._

He takes the phone back upstairs, sheds clothing as soon as he gets to the bedroom and lets himself fall backwards onto Danny’s bed. He starfishes there, taking up as much space as he can, surrounded by his and Danny’s scents and leaving more of his own. He bends one knee, gets comfortable as he raises the phone up so he can see it.

_Do you have any good Lydia stories? Or Isaac?_

Cora is transparent, her constant curiosity about the McCall pack going directly against her stated need to get back to Brazil. He wonders if she feels torn, but he won’t poke her about it, not yet. She’ll talk about it eventually, he figures. And if she doesn’t, then it’s not important enough to be talked about.

He rolls over on the bed, wiggling his hips against the sheets to get comfortable. Phone out in front of him, he chats for a while, until his brain reaches full wakefulness. It’s a way to occupy himself now that Danny’s back in school, a way to distract him so he doesn’t end up sitting outside the school, trying to listen and hoping that there isn’t any more trouble now that the evil English teacher is gone.

She says she has to go and he tosses the phone on the night stand, sprawls again on his back, relaxed and idle. When he closes his eyes, reaches out with his other senses, the scent of the room is almost overwhelming. It smells like Danny and like him; any werewolf would know that Jackson lives here. Sleeps here.

He slides hand over his stomach, and for a moment he’s tempted to make this place _more_ his, to add another layer of scent, but he catches himself just in time. His body is already stirring at the thought, but he doesn’t let himself give in and touch his semi-hard cock.

Instead he walks to the shower naked and takes care of things while he cleans up for the day. He has some restraint, after all.

#

The days slide by in boring monotony, blending into each other as Danny is consumed by the start of the school year. Now that life in school has established a routine, there are early mornings, afternoon cross-country practices, and evenings of homework and projects. It keeps Danny busy, but it bores Jackson to tears.

He spends more of his time in the woods, dressed in fur, running with the coyote. He slips back into his old habits until late at night, when he runs back to the house and slips in the back door. Mrs. Mahealani has taken to leaving a robe hanging by the door, and Jackson replaces it there when he goes out as Kula. He might not care about being naked in front of Danny, but he really has no desire to show anything to Danny’s parents.

When he’s not with the coyote, he spends time talking to Cora and poking at Lydia. The conversations with Cora disappear once she reaches Bauru, and he can’t blame her for being busy with her pack.

The conversations with Lydia only happen when he annoys her enough that she responds in the middle of the day.

_Really, Jackson? Is there a point to this?_

He snorts softly, easily imagining the way she taps at the desk with the pen in her left hand while the phone sits on the surface. _Not really. I’m bored, you know who I am. Entertain me_.

He’s aware of how alike he and Cora sound, but he’s not going to mention that to either Lydia or Cora. He’s not sure the comparison would end up in his favor, and Jackson isn’t the sort to start something that won’t make him look good.

_I’m at lunch, and it’s hardly entertaining here. We’re eating outside, because it’s nice. Danny’s been avoiding us._

That’s not a surprise. Jackson knows that since he left, Danny’s spent most of his time with the lacrosse team, but the pack doesn’t hang out with the rest of the jocks. Which is just another way that McCall is a social idiot, and Lydia… Lydia has changed enough that she’d rather be with McCall’s pack of misfits than with the popular crowd.

It’s a disturbing image, realizing that they’ve changed that much.

_Danny’s with the lacrosse team, right?_

It’s just a quiet way to check in, make sure everything’s okay. Danny’s been quiet and tight-lipped about school and people lately. He’s still _Danny_. He still climbs into the same bed, lets Jackson curl up as Kula and ends up with the two of them sprawled, Danny holding Kula like a stuffed animal. But something’s been bothering him, and the only thing Jackson has been able to do is periodically show up with ice cream and offers of Netflix time.

He doesn’t blame Danny for being down about Ethan still, but it’s been a couple of weeks. Danny’s a good guy and Ethan isn’t. Danny deserves better.

_He’s sitting with Brandon_.

And he definitely deserves better than Brandon, too. Jackson growls at the phone, stops himself before typing back angry words to Lydia because it’s not her fault that Brandon must sense despair and has no compunctions about moving into the space Ethan left. _Does he seem interested?_

There’s a pause, and the next text is an image. Brandon and Danny lean close together, not quite kissing but foreheads touching, just enough to be intimate without tripping the school’s no PDA policy.

So yeah, they both look interested. Very interested.

_I am going to use Brandon’s leg as a chew toy the next time I see him._

_Down boy._

Jackson scowls at Lydia’s response, as his phone lights up again with her sharp chiding.

_You started it with the chew toy joke. I am more than entitled to respond to one dog joke with another_.

The dog joke irritates Jackson, but it annoys him more that she’s right, so he doesn’t have a good retort. He falls back into the conversation. _It’s like Danny doesn’t know how to be on his own. He broke up with Brandon and started dating Ethan. He broke up with Ethan and now he has Brandon after him again. I know he doesn’t think he has a lot of options in Beacon Hills, but maybe he should stay single long enough to find out_.

His fingers move quickly, blurting out his frustration, and he wonders if lunch ended after it sends because Lydia doesn’t respond right away.

_It seems like you think about this a lot_ , she finally sends.

That’s not true. He tries _not_ to think about Danny and Ethan or Danny and Brandon. He doesn’t want to imagine them together, doesn’t want to think about how much of a dick or a killer either of them are. _Danny deserves better_ , he types slowly. _He doesn’t like to be alone, but he doesn’t need to be dating an asshole to keep from being lonely._

The return text comes so quickly that he wonders if she wrote it before he sent his.

_Jackson, there’s a big difference between dating and friendship. Danny’s looking for his someone. It’s not up to you to protect him from the options. You’re his best friend. Be there to pick up the pieces when he needs it, and feel free to tell him if you think he’s being an idiot. But you can’t lock him in a cage, and you shouldn’t cockblock him._

There’s a pause, while Jackson stares at the phone in his hands, thumbs light against the side. He doesn’t know what to say, because he’s not cockblocking Danny. Not exactly. He just doesn’t understand why he keeps insisting on dating someone who hurts him.

_Besides, at least this one’s human, Jackson. Aren’t you glad about that?_

Her words let Jackson step back from staring at what she said before. He can slide into a slightly different topic, avoid the way she was digging at him. _He’s only human until we find out he’s actually the devil in disguise. Or maybe an incubus. He did cheat on Danny_.

His phone rings a moment later, and he gets up, carries it downstairs as he answers. “Hello, Lydia.”

“Maybe the werewolf is the better option.” Her words are soft and clipped. There’s a din of conversation behind her, and Jackson wonders exactly how far away from the pack she is, or if they can hear every word she says. And possibly every word he says as well.

“Is this conversation private?”

She huffs an exasperated sigh. “I’m not an idiot, Jackson. Yes, we’re private. My point is, Ethan never tried to hurt Danny. In fact, I saw several times where it was obvious that Ethan actually cared about Danny, and took great pains to take care of him first.”

“So what you’re trying to tell me is that he’s not an asshole, even though he’s a murderous Alpha,” Jackson says dryly. He sets the phone on the counter, switches it to speaker as he starts to go through the cabinets looking for his own lunch.

“They aren’t Alphas anymore.” Her voice is low. “And Aiden’s not evil. He’s done bad things, but he has a good heart, too. And they both want to be better people.”

Jackson’s known her long enough to be able to hear what she’s not explicitly saying. “Lydia, who was the last person you slept with?”

“Rude,” she says sharply. “That’s none of your business anymore.”

“No one,” he counters, and he knows he’s right, hears the slight tick of her heartbeat even over the phone. “Because you’re still in contact with Aiden. Have you forgiven him for what he did to Boyd? For the people he killed as a member of Deucalion’s pack?”

“I’m considering it.” The words are soft and flat, a little clipped as they drop into the air between them. “Again, that isn’t your business, Jackson, not any more than it’s your business who Danny is with. You and I are friends.”

The words _have you forgiven me_ are on the tip of his tongue, but he’s half afraid that she’ll say no, or that she’s still considering it, and that it would make him no better than Aiden.

He wonders that himself, sometimes, if he’s really better than the twins. He’s trying to be, but apparently, so are they.

“They were under Deucalion’s control, the least power in a powerful pack,” Lydia tells him bluntly. “They were not given a choice.”

“They weren’t blindly controlled and out of their minds.” It’s an important distinction, and the only one Jackson can make. They are all blue-eyed wolves, they all care about Lydia and Danny, and that’s not going to make him feel some kindred bond with the twins. He doesn’t like them, and that isn’t going to change.

Her inhalation is tight, the exhalation slow and steady. “It wasn’t your fault, Jackson.” The words are carefully gentle. “I know you know that, and I know that’s why you are so careful about this. We’ve all forgiven you for what the kanima did. The part that’s harder for me to forgive is the way you left.”

He has no way to explain that in any manner that would paint him in a good light. He can’t blame it on his parents, since he refused to follow them to London, and he can’t blame it on Derek, since he never followed the orders to leave. All he can say is, “I’m back now.”

“I know.” A bell rings in the distance, still strident to Jackson’s ears even dimmed by hearing it over the phone. “I have to go to class, Jackson. Perhaps, if you’re bored or want to keep an eye on Danny, you ought to consider returning to school. We’re barely a month and a half into the school year. You could still catch up.”

“No.” He isn’t ready for that. While he doesn’t mind being human much of the time, there are still moments when it feels best to escape into the Preserve and just _run_. He doesn’t want to be restricted by human customs.

And he doesn’t want to have to explain to the swim coach why he can’t be captain anymore.

“Take care, Jackson.” The line clicks silent, and he presses the end button. He brings up the image of Danny and Brandon again and stares at it, measuring the minute distance between their noses and lips. It’s happening again and Danny’s going to get hurt. The worst part is, he’s not talking to Jackson about it, which means there is absolutely nothing Jackson can do to protect him.

#

The Mahealanis have become accustomed to Jackson wearing fur as often as he wears skin and clothes, so he tends to spend evenings as Kula, curled up on the floor, draped across Danny’s feet as he does his homework. Danny’s foot presses into his side, and Jackson curls closer, reveling in the closeness of his pack.

He dimly registers the doorbell and the rapidfire heartbeat of the person standing outside, but he ignores it as Mrs. Mahealani answers the door. He noses at Danny’s thigh, rumbling and pleased when Danny’s hand drops, idly scritching behind his ears before tangling with one finger around his collar, loosely holding on.

Footsteps.

A knock.

“Danny?”

The door nudges open, and Danny’s hand falls away from Jackson’s collar. Jackson stands up, feet slightly splayed, lip curled but he manages not to growl as Stiles steps inside. Stiles’s gaze falls to where Jackson stands, and Stiles shifts back onto his heels, crosses his arms.

“Huh. Forgot you’d gotten a dog. Must be the best behaved dog around since he didn’t start barking like crazy when I rang the bell.” Stiles’s words trip over themselves, just a little faster than usual. Jackson can taste something on the air, a sharp mix of anxiety and sleeplessness overlaid with a medical tang that seems even more pungent than usual.

“Don’t mind the growl; he’s not going to bite.” Danny flicks Jackson’s forehead, and Jackson grumbles as he leaps up onto the bed to lie down. “What are you doing here, Stiles? We weren’t assigned a project I forgot about, were we?”

Stiles shakes his head, looks around the room. Danny’s already sitting in the only chair, and Jackson has managed to take over most of the bed. Stiles glances at the floor, littered with scattered clothes and books, then back at the bed again. He sits, edging onto it, nudging at Jackson’s foot to make space for himself. When Jackson growls softly, Stiles just looks at him.

“Danny says you’re a softie, so I’m not worried.”

Jackson looks at Danny. He could bite Stiles. It really wouldn’t bother him at all.

“Don’t,” Danny says, and Jackson lets his tongue loll out, rolls onto his side, belly protected but head close to Stiles. He licks out, a long stripe down Stiles’s arm, snorting when Stiles jerks his arm back.

“Sorry, Stiles, he’s washing you before he bites you,” Danny says dryly. “Cut it out, Kula, or I’ll put you outside to sleep.”

As if that would bother Jackson: he has a cave and a packmate he could spend the night with. He snorts again, shaking his head, then lowers it to lie on the bed. He leaves one paw near enough to Stiles that he could swat him if he wants. He’s sure Stiles will say _something_ that will make Jackson want to poke at him.

“I taste like Adderall,” Stiles comments. “Not good, generally, so don’t even bother, Kula. I’m just going to talk to your boy here, then I’ll be out of here.” He turns his attention back to Danny, ignoring the dog in the room.

Jackson rolls his eyes. Whatever.

“I wanted to talk to you about the night in the storm.” Stiles keeps his voice low. “I mean first, I want to say….” His voice trails off and he scratches at his arm, shifting his weight as if he can’t keep still. “Thank you. For hauling me out of the car. I still swear there was someone else with you, but I hit my head pretty hard and I must’ve imagined it. Either way. You helped me make sure I got where I needed to go, and things are better now. Mostly.” He smiles, but it wavers. “It would’ve been a lot worse if I hadn’t made it to the stump.”

Danny turns away like he doesn’t care, but Jackson can smell the rising curiosity. “Glad you weren’t hurt worse,” Danny says. “You’re lucky we found you.”

Stiles glances from Danny’s back to where Jackson lies. “Yeah. About that. What were you doing out there?”

Danny swivels the chair slowly, turning back to face Stiles again, and Jackson can almost see the wheels turning. This is obviously what Stiles came to ask, what he really wants to know. They know now that the stump is a Nemeton, a place of power that was cut down long ago and recently re-ignited. Lydia told them about the Darach’s sacrifices, and the way Stiles, Allison, and Scott sacrificed themselves instead.

Which might explain the scent difference, if Jackson thinks about it. Seems like maybe he shares an experience with Stilinski. Starting to feel like there are as many previously dead people walking around Beacon Hills as there are normal ones.

Danny blinks, expression bland. “Taking my dog for a walk.”

“In the Preserve? In that storm?” Stiles is dubious, and Jackson can’t blame him.

Danny shrugs, spreads his hands. “My dog doesn’t like to shit in the backyard, and he was desperate.”

Jackson whines, covers his nose with one paw, and Stiles laughs. “I swear your dog’s embarrassed,” Stiles says.

“Delicate sensibilities. Doesn’t like it when we remind him that he does his business outside.” Danny leans in, lowers his voice. “Sometimes I swear he thinks he’s human.”

It surprises a short bark of laughter from Stiles, and there’s a wash of something in his scent that Jackson can’t identify. Stiles ducks his head, looks at Jackson instead of Danny, and reaches out slowly to stroke along his ruff. Jackson stays perfectly still, lets Stiles pet him for as long as he wants. It seems to ease something in his scent, and Jackson inches closer to Stiles to encourage more touch.

If he’s going to be a dog, then he’s going to fucking well enjoy it.

“All kidding aside, he seems like a good dog,” Stiles says quietly. “As for you….” He grips the fur behind Jackson’s ears, leans in forehead to forehead, nuzzling at Jackson’s furred face. “If you dragged Danny out in that mess, and I have you to thank for him being there to help me, then thank you, too.”

Jackson lets his tongue flick out, just touches the tip of Stiles’s nose, enough to make Stiles draw back, pushing a hand across his face.

“Ew.”

“You must taste better than you think.” Danny says to Stiles, although his gaze is focused on Jackson. “He’s usually much better about not licking.”

“I taste like sweat, anxiety, and exhaustion,” Stiles admits, the words lilting up at the end like he’s surprised he admitted it. He pushes at his face again, rubs his eyes. “For all I know, I’m sitting here dreaming, and we never had this conversation.”

“Like you dreamed the other person pulling from the wrecked Jeep?”

Stiles barks out a sharp laugh, and Danny joins in for a moment. Jackson takes the chance to jump down from the bed, stretch on the floor before he flops on Danny’s feet, offering his belly. Danny shakes his head, eyes rolling, but he leans down to scritch the offered belly.

“The secret to good sleep is company,” Danny says with a small smirk. “And if you don’t happen to have anyone to snuggle with, a dog is a good option.”

“Maybe I should borrow yours.” Stiles nudges at Jackson with his foot, and Jackson swats back, an idle strike with his paw.

“You think I sneak guys in here? My parents notice everything.” Danny shakes his head. “It’s just me and Kula, but I’ll tell you, I’ve slept better since he’s moved in. He sleeps like a rock, too, so maybe it goes both ways.”

“Or maybe dogs just don’t have anything to be anxious about.” Stiles lies back on the bed, and Jackson whines, knowing that Stiles is spreading his scent all over sheets that Jackson has ensured smell like himself and Danny. “Dad isn’t letting me get a dog any time soon, so if you ever decide to loan yours out, let me know.”

“I don’t decide where Kula goes, he does.” Danny’s fingers hook lightly under the collar, and Jackson’s eyes close. It’s so tempting to switch back, then and there, just to feel Danny’s touch on both collar and skin. “One of these days I’ll get him a collar that says _property of Kula_ so everyone can see. No one owns him but himself. He decided to move in, and if he decides to move out, I’m not going to stop him.”

As if Jackson’s going to leave now. He leverages himself back to standing only to move closer to Danny, leaning against his legs before lying down on his feet, claiming him. His tail thumps against the floor, wagging for emphasis.

It makes Stiles smile, a slow slide of an expression that seems to surprise him when he realizes he’s doing it. Stiles shakes his head, pushes himself to standing. “I should go. I’ve actually got work to do tonight. Before my brain completely melts down for sleep.”

There’s fear in his scent, fear at those words. Jackson doesn’t think Stiles would ever be afraid of classwork, so it has to be the sleep that scares him.

Danny nudges at Jackson, shoves him off his feet so he can stand, open the door to his room and lead the way back downstairs. Jackson waits at the top of the stairs; he doesn’t need to be with them to hear the conversation at the front door.

“If you’re running to help someone, you should take backup,” Danny says.

There’s a hiss of breath, and a moment’s pause while the door scrapes open. “Danny boy, you have no idea what sort of trouble I get into on a daily basis,” Stiles says quietly. “I appreciate the help, but keep yourself out of it. Stay safe. And if Ethan contacts you? Don’t answer him, okay? Just… stay safe.”

Footsteps move away, and the door closes. Jackson moves back into Danny’s room and is already back in human skin, pulling on sweats when Danny returns.

“Don’t say it.”

Jackson raises one eyebrow. “No point. I’ve already heard you’re back together with Brandon.”

It’s funny how quickly the ease between them shatters with the reminder of how Jackson feels about Ethan and Brandon. He doesn’t say _I told you so_ and he doesn’t point out that if even _Stilinski_ can see how bad Ethan is, then it’s a problem. He doesn’t say a damned thing, just grabs his own laptop and sprawls across the bed, letting his scent sink back into it, while Danny goes downstairs to finish his homework.

Fine. It’s awkward. He blames Stiles.

But it’ll be better soon. Danny never can stay mad at Jackson for long, and Jackson relies on that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to another Sunday! It's very rainy here at camp, so we're having a bit of a lazy morning before we pack out and head home. Mostly because I do not want to leave the dry space to go out in the rain, even though I do want to go home. At least the rest of the weekend was nice weather!
> 
> I hope you all have had a lovely week. I've been working on my new original project (which you can find on tumblr at [welcometophu](http://welcometophu.tumblr.com) if you're curious. I'll be posting teasers and excerpts (and a Welcome document, if you check the links available) throughout June, July, and August, and I hope to launch content in September. In the meantime, I'm also working on plotting out the (hopefully shorter) sequel to this story, so that we can have as little delay as possible between the ending of this one and the posting of the next.
> 
> Thank you all for being here, and for reading, and for your lovely comments!! The next part will post on Sunday, June 12, and I hope to see you all again then. Until then, you can find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	18. Chapter 18

The fading warmth of fall calls to Jackson, and he spends more days outside with the coyote than inside bored, waiting for Danny to come home. He meets her on the edge of Danny’s property, and they make their way into the woods, hunting together.

They pull down a deer, and Jackson sits back to let the coyote gorge herself first, taking a bite when she offers but otherwise leaving the rest for her. He lies down, head on his paws, ears cocked for sounds in the woods. It’s peaceful now that the anxiety of the Darach has gone, easier to spend time in fur and on four feet than it was before.

His head lifts as he catches a familiar scent; the coyote stops eating, her lip curled in a low growl. Jackson yips at her, trying to convey that it’s okay. The scent is safe, a friendly human. The coyote snarls at him, drags her deer into the bushes to hide it before they pad further into the woods, the coyote trailing behind Jackson. He follows the scent, stopping just before they emerge into the larger space between the trees. It’s too narrow to be called a clearing, but the trees are less dense here, better for target practice.

Although _target_ is a loose term, as Jackson watches Allison loose an arrow to fly past a tree and into the woods.

The coyote whines softly, nudges at Jackson’s shoulder, but he leans into her, offering solidity as an incentive to stay put and watch.

“Try the Mongolian draw,” Lydia suggests, and Allison changes her stance. It doesn’t help, the arrow going wild.

The coyote shoves against Jackson, her body heavy, falling fully against his haunch before she growls once and stalks away. She looks back, bares her teeth in a quiet snarl, and the message is clear: hunters aren’t _friends_.

He wishes there were a way to tell the coyote that Allison wouldn’t hurt her—wouldn’t hurt _anyone_ —but he can’t speak like this. And he’s not going to turn human right now.

He lies down to watch Allison and Lydia discussing Allison’s issues with aim. Lydia puts her hands on Allison’s shoulders, assures her that she can do this, that she is still just as good as she was before. “Close your eyes,” Lydia says softly. “Imagine the arrow going directly to the target.”

Allison’s eyes flutter closed as Lydia’s hands drop away. Lydia takes a step back, and Allison inhales slowly, holds her breath for a moment before releasing it. Jackson can taste the tension rising in the air, sees the flutter behind Allison’s eyelids as if she sees something.

Her eyes fly open, staring at something just past Jackson. He’s on his feet, spinning to see what it is, but there’s nothing there. Allison rushes past him, yelling, “Wait here,” as she leaves Lydia behind.

“Follow her,” Lydia whispers, and Jackson knows she’s spotted him.

He leaps forward, racing after Allison, trying to protect her from something he doesn’t even see. She ducks as she runs, stops, spins, looks around. “Lydia?” she calls out, and she takes a few steps back the way she came. Jackson tries to block her path, growls softly, but Allison doesn’t seem to hear him.

He yips once, and Allison stalks past him, her bow raised. She pauses long enough to plant her feet, bow raised and arrow nocked. Jackson catches fear and determination in her scent, and he races back to where Lydia has been left. Where Allison is aiming.

The bow twangs as the arrow releases. Jackson leaps, twisting mid-stride as he spots Isaac with Lydia, hand closing around the arrow before it strikes Lydia. Her eyes are wide, scent terrified, and Jackson is overwhelmed by the rush of pheromones and rapidfire heartbeats.

“Lydia!” Allison yells out, running up to them. Jackson skitters back out of the way. He slides into the underbrush, grateful that Isaac is focused entirely on Allison and doesn’t seem to see him at all.

Lydia’s gaze drops, and she shakes her head, jerks her chin slightly, and Jackson understands: she’s safe, so _go_.

He races back through the woods to the coyote’s den, stopping when the coyote greets him at the entrance, teeth bared and growling. He wants to say _they won’t hurt you_ but he can’t guarantee that, not after what he just saw.

Allison shot an arrow at Lydia, and if Isaac hadn’t been there… Jackson isn’t sure he could’ve been fast enough to save Lydia.

He’ll talk to Lydia tomorrow. For today, he lies down in front of the entrance to the cave. He’s not leaving her alone when there are hunters in the woods—a hunter he’s not sure he can trust. If he has to stay here all night, that’s fine. He lies down, lays his head on his paws, and closes his eyes. This is his pack, after all.

#

 _So what happened?_ He doesn’t preface the text with any explanation, simply kicks back in the living room chair and sends it to Lydia. She’s quick enough to follow his thoughts.

_Allison is hallucinating her dead aunt._

Jackson frowns, sifting through the things that Lydia has told him about the pack. Things he missed because he was turning into a homicidal lizard, and things Derek never elaborated on. _The one who tried to kill Derek?_

 _The one that Peter killed, yes. She thought she was shooting at Kate’s ghost_.

That’s… not sane. Even for Beacon Hills, it’s stretching the limits of sanity. Jackson stares at his phone, not sure what to say or suggest. He can’t help, not from here. Allison doesn’t even know he’s in Beacon Hills, none of them do. And it’s not like he’s an expert on sanity. _Do you think she’s possessed?_ He finally sends the text back when it’s clear Lydia isn’t adding anything else.

There’s a long pause, long enough for Jackson to drop the phone on the couch, go get a drink and come back. He grabs the remote and turns on the TV, realizing he is bored out of his mind here.

_Like you were? No. She was human the entire time. It’s sleepwalking, Jackson. None of them are sleeping well._

He frowns at the phone, remembering the conversation when Stiles was here. _None of who? Stiles told Danny he could be dreaming right then like he didn’t know._

Another long pause, and when his phone rings and he answers it, he can still hear the bell in the background signaling the end of class. “You know, if you decided to come to school, we could talk,” Lydia says, her heels clicking on the floor as she walks through the school.

Boredom.

High school.

“I’m not sure it’d be an improvement,” Jackson says dryly. “So you’ve got three minutes between classes. Talk fast?”

“I’m going to powder my nose and be late. No one will care.” A door squeaks and her shoes echo as she enters a bathroom. “Scott, Stiles, and Allison. Deaton told them that there would be a darkness around their hearts after they died and were revived. None of them are sleeping well now. Or they are sleeping—or hallucinating—at inappropriate times.”

“Like waking dreams,” Jackson says.

“Exactly.” There’s a click that he knows is the sound of a lipstick being opened. “Stiles is the worst—constant nightmares. I don’t know when he last had a full night’s sleep. Allison is hallucinating her dead aunt coming after her, and Scott is losing control.”

Jackson sits upright. “He’s changing? In school?”

“Once.” There’s a soft sigh. “And it was Stiles who mentioned it, so it could have been one of his waking dreams. I don’t know. It’s hard to know what to believe and what’s manufactured in their minds right now. I’m worried about them, Jackson.”

“Stiles didn’t smell good.” It was bitter on his tongue, and Jackson makes a face at the memory. “Or taste good. He’s under a lot of stress, and he’s probably taking too much of his Adderall. Danny told him to get a dog to sleep with.”

“Oh?” Jackson can imagine her expression, the purse of her lips and widened eyes, and he sinks down onto the sofa.

“Danny’s not loaning me out. And I wouldn’t go. It’s fucking Stilinski.” Jackson grabs the remote, starts idly flipping channels, anything to get away from the documentary on giant snakes that’s airing on Animal Planet. “I sleep better when I’m with Danny, probably because he’s my anchor. I sleep well enough with the coyote, but it’s not as good as when I’m with Danny. If I wake up—”

He stops, because the way Danny touches his throat—the way he touches the collar—is too personal. He reaches up, fingers sliding over the worn leather, and his eyes close.

“Maybe dying cut them off from their anchors, even though you were supposed to tether them and bring them back,” he says quietly. “Maybe Deaton got it wrong. Or maybe Stiles is anchored to you now because you brought him back.”

Lydia snorts softly. “You’re not an expert, Jackson, and I’m not sleeping with Stiles, and I highly doubt Scott’s going to sleep in Deaton’s bed.” The door creaks again, her heels clicking quietly in the halls of the school. The bell rings, and voices quiet around them.

“That’s so wrong.”

Lydia makes a noise of agreement. “Besides, Jackson, your anchor happens to be making out with Brandon outside of English class right now.”

There’s a twist in Jackson’s gut. “He is?” It’s all too easy to imagine what she sees, and he doesn’t like it. “Brandon’s a fucking asshole. If he hurts Danny again, I’m going to bite his dick off.”

“That’s a horrible visual,” Lydia says. “And maybe you should just settle for terrifying him. Nothing that could get you thrown in jail, or dissected as a supernatural oddity.” Her voice is soft and low, possibly audible to any werewolves in the vicinity, but Jackson is sure Danny can’t hear her and he hopes to hell that Brandon isn’t supernatural.

“Danny’s my anchor,” Jackson says, voice low. “He’s not my property. He knows I don’t like Brandon, and he doesn’t care. I can’t stop him.”

“I don’t like Brandon either.” Lydia’s voice is quietly flat, and Jackson perks up that she agrees with him. “However, you’re correct, you have absolutely no right to tell Danny who he can and cannot date, even though you sleep in his bed every night.”

For a moment he thinks she’s going to continue, tell him that he has no right to tell _her_ who to date either, but there’s only a significant silence stretching onwards for several seconds. He hears the words in their absence, grumbles under his breath.

“I have to go.” The line clicks silent, and a moment later his phone chimes with the arrival of a text.

He opens it to see the new English teacher leaning out of her door to chide Danny and Brandon, who are definitely more tangled than is really appropriate for a school hallway. Jackson’s sure that if he were there, they would smell like lust and hunger and want.

He’s glad he’s not there.

Even if he _is_ bored out of his mind.

#

Jackson waits until Danny is sitting on the edge of the bed, tugging off his socks to get changed. Jackson drops the phone onto the bed next to him, the picture open and obvious. Danny glances down, blinks once, then returns to pulling off his socks, then standing long enough to yank down his jeans. He walks away without a word, grabs his sweats and yanks them on before he turns back to face Jackson.

“So?”

“So, Brandon’s poisonous,” Jackson points out. He strips quickly, tossing his shirt and jeans into the laundry basket and not bothering with sweats. Boxers are fine; it’s not like they’re planning on leaving this room until morning. “Why are you doing this to yourself again?”

“You were poisonous, and you actually poisoned me,” Danny quips. He grabs his laptop, lies down on the bed facing the middle, the laptop between his space and Jackson’s.

As conversation distractions go, it’s not a good one.

“I was venomous,” Jackson counters. “And yes, I poisoned you. I was also out of my mind at the time, and you _know_ I didn’t mean literally. Because if it turns out Brandon is actually poisonous I am going to be _pissed off_ when I bite him and find out. I’m hoping he’s just an asshole human out to break your heart again.”

Danny rolls over on his back, sets his laptop on his chest, and touches the keyboard. Voices start: _Veronica Mars_ again. “I take it you talked to Lydia today? Did she tell you that everyone’s moody?”

“I didn’t think you’d even notice them.” Jackson takes the shift this time, knowing that if he pushes a third time Danny’s likely to just walk out. He’ll delay, let Danny think he’s won, then he’ll come back to it. One of these times Danny has to listen, just enough to be wary. To know that this is a stupid path to go down.

He’s just trying to protect him. That’s what pack does.

“I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.” Danny’s heartbeat ticks as he lies, and that makes Jackson smirk.

“Of course you weren’t.” He stretches out on the bed next to him, nudges his shoulder so they can share space on the pillow. On the screen, Veronica and Logan are talking, and Jackson doesn’t really care. He reaches out, touches the trackpad to pause the video. “So, what were they saying?”

“Bardo.” Danny brings up a new tab and types it into the search bar. “There’s a new girl who started talking to them—the History teacher’s daughter. You’d like her. She makes me think of Stilinski, if he were a girl.”

Jackson snorts, shakes his head. “McCall must love her. Now he can have two of them.” He looks at the different pages the search returned. A halfway state between life and death. What comes after death. “This one.” He taps the screen. “Awakened from a dream. Remember how Stiles said he wasn’t sure if he was awake or dreaming? And Allison’s been having waking dreams; she was hallucinating about being haunted by her dead aunt when she almost shot Lydia yesterday.”

Danny closes the tab rather than click on any of the links. “Stiles also said not to get involved.”

“I think it’s a bit too late. Besides, he was talking about Ethan.” Jackson’s smile is thin. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re trying to save you from heartbreak. It’s not our fault Beacon Hills is out to kill people. That’s a completely separate problem.”

“No one’s dying right now, they’re just not sleeping when they should.” Danny starts the video again, right in the middle of Logan’s speech. Jackson touches the volume, turns it down to a point where he can barely hear it, so Danny probably can’t hear it at all. Danny slaps his hand away, turns it up again. “Maybe you should think about why you’re so involved in my relationships with Ethan and Brandon, Jackson.”

Jackson sits up, turns to face Danny. “I’m involved because I’m your best friend. I’m _involved_ because when they break your heart, I’m the one who’s here to pick up the pieces. And you seem to think it’s a good idea to go from one to the other when you already know they’re _both_ a bad bet.”

“You sound jealous.”

Jackson slides off the bed. “I’m not jealous.”

“Then why does it bother you so much that I’m thinking about getting back together with Brandon?” Danny looks at him, waits. “Why does it bother you so much that I’m with _anyone_? You act like you can’t stand to smell them on me.”

He can’t. Jackson hates the way Brandon’s cologne clings to Danny’s skin, sloughing off in the sheets as he lies there in bed. This place belongs to Jackson and Danny, and he doesn’t want to think about Brandon being here, worming his way between them.

“I’m going out.” Jackson shoves down the boxers, reaches for the robe that Mrs. Mahealani insists he wear when he’s walking through the house while others might be awake. “Don’t wait up. I’ll be with the coyote.”

“Fine.” Danny starts typing something. “But I thought you’d already figured out you can’t run away from things, Jackson. Wasn’t that the whole point of staying in Beacon Hills?”

“I’m not running away.” Jackson tries to keep his words even. “You don’t want to talk reasonably about it, so I’m going to go out. I’ll be back tomorrow. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

He’s halfway down the stairs when he hears Danny mutter, “I didn’t think I could. Just be safe, Jackson.”

Jackson waves to the Mahealanis in the living room, heads into the kitchen and shrugs out of the robe. He hangs it on the hook by the door, then heads out, making sure to kick the door closed before he transforms and starts to run.

He can’t run from what’s inside his own head, he knows that. But maybe he can run until it quiets down, until he’s able to think reasonably again. Maybe he can stay a wolf until life makes a little more sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Jackson is caught somewhere between oblivious and active denial. Hope everyone has had a good weekend, and happy Sunday, and thank you all for being here for another weekly installment! This is the halfway point in chapters and wordcount, so it's all downhill from here. The next chapter will be posted on Sunday, June 19th. See you then! And until then, you can also find me [on Tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com). If you're curious about the original project that I'll be launching in September (with teasers and introductions posting throughout the summer), go follow [Welcome to PHU](http://welcometophu.tumblr.com), also on Tumblr. <3 to everyone!


	19. Chapter 19

Jackson finds the coyote before he gets to the den; she runs up to him, tackles him and they both tumble to the ground. She nips at his ruff, and he nips back, pleased that she’s no longer irritated with him. They play until his tension slips away, and she finally backs off, lets him be with a pleased huff.

That’s the thing about pack: he tries to protect them, and they try to protect him in return.

It’s still early in the evening, the light greying but not dark yet. She gets up and lopes through the trees, and Jackson lets her set the pace, happy to just follow along tonight. He recognizes the path she takes, realizes that they are heading toward a neighborhood, and specifically toward the Tate house.

It’s been a while since Jackson came with her to this place, and he wonders if she’s been coming back alone while he was busy trying to deal with the humans of Beacon Hills. She treads the familiar path, lets him catch up to her so they are walking side by side.

He catches a strange scent and whuffs softly; she goes perfectly still, craning her head to look at him curiously.

Metal. The scent of iron, thick and out of place among the underbrush. It’s pervasive, coming from several directions at once, and Jackson moves forward cautiously. He finds one source, hidden under a pile of leaves, directly along where they might have run.

A trap.

The coyote bares her teeth, snarls at it, and Jackson shakes his head. Together they manage to carefully unearth three more, all laid where they normally run when they come and go from the Tate house. Jackson grabs a downed branch, drags it over in his teeth and lays it across the trap. It closes with a heavy _snap_ , cracking the rotted wood.

The coyote takes two steps back, head down and ears back, the whites of her eyes showing.

Jackson isn’t exactly happy about this either. It seems as if Tate has noticed them, and is attempting to take precautions against them. If they hadn’t smelled the metal, it’s possible that they could have been hurt past the point of healing. Whatever the coyote’s reasons for coming here, Tate obviously doesn’t welcome the attention.

The coyote lowers her head, noses close to a trap before backing off warily. She whines at Jackson, and he takes two steps before stopping, head cocked. He barks, low and soft, and the coyote joins him as they both peer out to see the Sheriff’s car pull up.

Jackson can smell them even thought he can’t see into the car, knows that Scott and Stiles linger in the back seat while the Sheriff approaches the front door. The door opens and closes in the distance, and the coyote makes a small noise of distress when Scott and Stiles finally tumble out of the car. She takes a step toward where the boys are approaching the back door of the house, but Jackson intervenes, teeth bared as he warns her to back off. It may be Stilinski and McCall, but they’re just idiots, not trouble. They don’t need to be bitten by a pissed off coyote.

She edges as close to the tree line as she can without showing herself, avoiding the metallic scent of the traps. She lies down, head on her paws, but her haunches are tense, as if she could explode without warning. Jackson lies down next to her, budges up close and leans his weight into her until he feels her relax. He barks once, glances back at the trees, but she refuses to move until there’s a rough sound of barking inside the house, and Tate’s voice yelling, “Apollo! Shut up!”

The back door opens and Scott and Stiles slip out, Stiles with his phone in his hand, staring down at it. They crawl into the back seat of the car as the front door opens. The coyote inches forward, and Jackson moves with her, ears cocked to listen.

“It’s taken me eight years to deal with the idea that I lost my entire family in an accident,” Tate says, voice low and tight. “And now you tell me that someone might’ve murdered them? Get out.”

The Sheriff starts to speak, but the words are cut off by Tate repeating his order: “ _Get out_.”

There are apologies, and when the Sheriff climbs into his car, Scott’s voice is clear to Jackson’s ears. “I couldn’t get a scent of anything other than the dog, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, son.” The Sheriff is little more than a moving shadow inside the car from this distance, but Jackson can catch the scent of tension on the breeze. “I think I just ripped a wound open for that poor man. I never should have brought you two here. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

The car starts, muffling any further conversation, and the coyote seems to take that as her signal to back up in a rush. Jackson catches her before she moves into a trap, and she goes perfectly still, eyes wide with the whites showing around the edge. There’s fear in her scent, rising rapidly and bursting out as she turns and sprints away.

Jackson is torn; he could follow her, but it’s clear that she’s not interested in company right now and something has her spooked. He could go home, but there’s still a conversation with Danny hanging in the wind and he’s not sure he’s ready to deal with that, either.

But he has a distraction for Danny, something that has little to do with either of them and everything to do with helping the coyote as much as he can.

Maybe it’s time to reopen their investigation.

#

Danny’s at his desk, hunched over and working on something on his laptop when Jackson pushes the door open. His hands move quickly over the keyboard before he glances up, expression inscrutable. “I thought you were sleeping outside tonight.”

“Yeah, well, I’m back.” Jackson pushes the robe off his shoulders, sits down on the bed naked and ignores the hard glare Danny sends his way. “The coyote and I went to that house again, and the Sheriff showed up. I want to know why, and you were investigating Tate for me.”

“Get dressed.”

Jackson raises an eyebrow. “There’s no point, since I’m going furry when it’s time to sleep, anyway. Put clothes on, take them off, it’s boring and repetitive.”

Danny just waits, and the thing is, Jackson knows just how stubborn Danny can be.

“Fine.” He grabs the first things that come to hand—a discarded pair of Danny’s sweats that thankfully don’t stink of Brandon—and yanks them on. “Satisfied?”

“It’s hard to take you seriously when your dick’s hanging out.” Danny turns back around to the laptop and starts searching through files and bookmarks. “Maybe I should make you do your own research. It’d give you something to do when you get bored instead of texting people. And getting Lydia to text you pictures of me.”

“You looked on my phone?”

“It started buzzing and your unlock code is one of the three most popular patterns.” Danny nudges it toward Jackson. “It’s not like you were here to do anything about it. So I called your mom and told her you were out and not to worry.”

Jackson picks up his phone and scrolls through the series of texts from his mother. He texts her back quickly, lets her know that he’s fine and yes, the Mahealanis are taking good care of him. She doesn’t respond, but he figures it’s late in London and she had mentioned in one of her texts that his father’s in town, so they are probably reconnecting. Not that it ever seems to help them. It’s not that either of them is a bad person; they’re just a terrible couple and Jackson’s not sure his father was ever meant to be a parent.

Some days he wonders if his father adopted him like buying a present for his mother—something to keep her quiet and give her something to do while he traveled for work. The idea doesn’t make him feel any better about being adopted.

“My father’s home for a month before he has to travel again.” Jackson tosses the phone on the night stand. “I don’t know if she’s happy about it or not.”

“She sounded like things were okay.” Danny shrugs one shoulder, fingers moving across the keyboard as he hunts for the right saved web page. “Maybe your dad will travel to California and she’ll come with him.”

Jackson’s fingers still, then twist in the sheets. “Maybe. I’m not sure I want to see either of them yet.”

The noise Danny makes is somehow non-committal but understanding at the same time, and Jackson breathes easier when the topic is dropped. Instead, Danny turns the laptop, shows Jackson the article on the screen.

 _Man loses wife and daughters in tragic crash_.

He skims the article, dated eight years ago, reading about how Tate’s wife and daughter were found killed in a rollover accident, and the appearance that coyotes fed on the remains and dragged away the body of Tate’s elder daughter, Malia.

“Oh, _shit_.” The evidence of coyotes was clear in the bite marks, and Jackson feels his gut go cold. “My coyote has blue eyes, Danny. She’s killed innocents.”

“And she doesn’t hunt humans now,” Danny says quietly, and Jackson shakes his head.

“She avoids them, generally. When we saw Lydia and Allison, she was wary. She didn’t want to be anywhere around a hunter. The only human place she goes on her own is Tate’s house.” Jackson reaches for the laptop, pulls it closer and blows up the picture of the car on the screen. There are traces of blood visible in the black and white image, but that’s not what interests him. He looks at the chewed seatbelt that hangs in the wreckage, and the barely visible doll resting inside the wrecked car. He touches the screen. “That’s her doll,” he whispers. “She’s Malia. Her name is Malia Tate.”

And she’s been a coyote for _eight years_. Jackson’s been able to turn into a wolf for a few months, and he finds that idea incredibly hard to assimilate. He knows there is still human intelligence in there, wrapped around animal instinct. The way she dealt with Danny’s house and family, the way she seems to understand human speech. He is fairly certain that she’s remained close enough to humanity to learn, but not close enough to be what they consider necessarily _human_.

And she obviously has no interest in shifting back.

Jackson can’t blame her, not if she’s carrying the guilt of killing her mother and sister. He rereads the article, swallows hard at the graphic description of the claw and teeth marks in the car and on the bodies that were found. His breath shudders in his chest, and he struggles to breathe for a moment until Danny takes the laptop from his hands and puts it away, then settles on the bed next to him, giving him something to lean on.

Jackson touches his collar, feels for the place where the coyote chewed it. He looks over at Danny, who meets his gaze and reaches to touch it as well, fingers sliding along the bite marks. Jackson closes his eyes.

“She chewed it like those straps,” Danny says, and Jackson nods.

“She’s got a thing about traps and being trapped.” He glances back at the screen but doesn’t move, taking advantage of Danny’s closeness to lean into him, steal his warmth. “But she obviously misses her dad. It’s the most human thing about her, that she keeps going back to him.”

“I found these as well.” Danny brings the laptop closer, balances it on their knees. He brings up later articles, going forward several months after the crash. Each one is a plea from Tate to find his missing daughter: a reward for her body, a reward for the coyotes, begging to help him find any trace of her. “He didn’t want to give up on her.”

“He told the Sheriff that it took him a long time to come to terms with it. Sounds like the investigation’s been reopened.” Jackson glances at Danny, a slow frown starting. “Do you think the Sheriff knows…?”

“Lydia didn’t mention it, but it’s possible. Once you get an idea, it’s kind of hard to miss,” Danny says dryly. “And it explains a lot about this town. If he’s reopened this case—”

“…And he’s talking about murder,” Jackson says, voice low and tight. It strikes a chord, hearing those words, thinking that his coyote— _Malia_ —might be branded a murderer.

“And if he’s talking about murder when it looks like a coyote got at the corpses,” Danny echoes. “He might have an idea, yes. Are you going to say anything to anyone?”

Jackson can’t tell the coyote. He could go to her den, transform and try and get the point across, but he’s not sure if she’d listen or care. He shakes his head. “She’s happy. She’s… if she killed and ate her family, and if she’s managed to put that behind her and be happy as a coyote, I’m not going to try to change that. It might be what she needs to stay stable. Her coyote might be her anchor.”

“Like your wolf is yours?” Danny shrugs one shoulder. “You said you have more control because you can fully transform, so you’re in touch with your wolf. It sounds like you understand her.”

“Yeah. Like that.” Jackson’s voice is hoarse. He closes the laptop, picks it up and carries it to the desk because he’s fighting against the words that want to spill out, telling Danny that _he’s_ his anchor. It’s not like _that_ , right? It’s complicated. And maybe he shouldn’t put all that responsibility on Danny, since he’s obviously tied to other people in other ways.

He doesn’t want to re-open the argument from earlier. Right now he just wants to sink into a space that smells like his anchor and forget about Malia, forget about worrying for his pack, and forget about everything else. “I think she’s okay,” he finally says. “And I think she’s better off on her own. If I don’t want them to know I’m here, I don’t think she would. She doesn’t even know them. She’s been a coyote for eight years. If she’s happy like that, let her be. She’s not hurting anyone. All she wants to do is see her father and hunt and survive. She’s fine.”

“You don’t need to convince me,” Danny tells him. “But maybe let her know that if she needs a place to go, I’ve already got a wolf. I’m pretty sure Mom wouldn’t be thrilled to have a wild coyote move in permanently, but if she needs a place to stay if they’re looking for her, she’s welcome here.”

“Yeah, I’ll try to figure out how to make that clear in yips and howls,” Jackson says dryly, and Danny huffs a low laugh. It’s funny, and at the same time, it’s not. She’s just been the coyote to him all this time, and even though he’s known she probably was human once upon a time, she never had a name. But now she has a name and a face and he knows that she was just a little girl when her life went to hell.

Jackson hopes they don’t find her.

#

Jackson falls asleep across the foot of the bed as Kula, his tail thwapping against the mattress while Danny’s breath eases into sleep. It’s easy to fall into the dreamlands, but once he’s there, he’s plagued by images of being chased through the woods by Allison and Kate with bows, Scott following behind as a demonic Alpha, bigger than Peter ever was. Jackson ducks into the coyote’s den, and she’s there, legs spread and head lowered, the whites of her eyes clear as she snarls, foam dripping from her teeth. He backs out slowly, tumbles down a hill that isn’t there and tries to claw the earth to stop his descent.

It rains dirt on him, leaves him tumbling over and over, head cracking against a rock and making his ears ring, dirt in his eyes until he can’t see. He catches the scent of water rising up, the rush of it over wet stones, then he plunges in, going under too fast to swim. He opens his mouth and suddenly he’s human and drowning, water in his lungs, choking him. He tries to cry out, thrashes, clings to anything he can find, but the current sweeps him along, pulling him under every time he tries to catch a breath.

Something grabs him by the collar, yanks him out of the cold and back against a warm body, and Jackson jerks awake. He’s shivering on top of the covers, Danny’s arm around his waist, tucking him close. Danny whispers wordless sounds, and tugs on the covers, Jackson rolls to one side and slips beneath them, reveling in the feel of Danny pressed in tight behind him. He’s human now, and he feels every inch of Danny’s skin as he melts into him, only Danny’s boxers between them.

“Hush,” Danny whispers, and his mouth touches the skin beneath the collar, nose nuzzling along the leather. He touches it with his other hand, strokes along Jackson’s skin until Jackson’s breath returns to an even pace.

Jackson inhales his scent, breathes it out slowly and lets himself relax, falling into the line of Danny’s body, his humanity anchoring him in this place and time, forcing the nightmares out of his mind as he slips back into sleep.

He barely wakes at the alarm, dimly notices Danny extracting himself from the bed and padding quietly out of the room to get ready for school. Jackson rolls over, cocoons himself in the remains of Danny’s warmth in the bed, and when he opens his eyes again, the room is bright with mid-morning light and there are no sounds of people in the house.

Jackson burrows under the covers, breathes in the scent as he rolls onto his belly, face pressed against the pillow. He’s loathe to leave the security of this space, loathe to walk away from Danny’s scent. His hips roll, pressing his aching morning wood into the bed, leaving a small trail of scent along the sheets.

It would be easy—so very easy—to just keep moving, let his hips rotate, push down, leave his scent in a far stronger way. He whines into the pillow, nuzzles it deeply as his breath shudders in his chest. He has to force himself to stop, to untangle himself from the sheets and get out of bed, and once he does, he stands there, feet splayed and body on edge as he stares at the rumpled bedclothes. He touches himself, fingers cool along the hot length of his erection, and he forces himself to take a step back.

He heads for the shower, twisting the water on, hot and steaming the room quickly. He steps into it, loves the way it rises around him, blurs out the rest of the world. The marble wall is still cool when he leans into it, water beating against his back as he crooks one arm against the wall, pillows his head on it. He spreads his feet and finally lets himself touch, stroking while he inhales again, tasting soap and Danny in the air around him.

It doesn’t take long before he spills all over his hand and the wall, and the water washes the evidence away.

He stays in the shower until his skin is red and hot, until he smells like soap and skin rather than leftover fear from the nightmares and repressed hunger and need. He grabs Danny’s damp towel to dry himself, patting Danny’s scent in a layer over his own, then tosses it in the hamper. He goes through the bathroom and Danny’s room gathering up laundry, sniffing everything—even hoodies and jackets—for any trace of Ethan’s or Brandon’s scents. When he’s done, he separates it out and starts doing laundry.

When he’s done, Danny’s things will smell clean, or like Danny and Jackson. Nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are celebrating today, Happy Father's Day! And happy Sunday in general to all. We're at camp and having a lazy day before we return home. I'm making dinner tonight for my own family and for my mom and dad, so it's a big day of being social. In writing news, I've been hard at work on both the sequel to this fic and my new original project. If you want to hear all about it (or just want to talk), come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)! Until then, I'll see you next Sunday (June 26) for the next chapter.


	20. Chapter 20

Jackson heads into the woods, loping along easily as he heads toward the den. He hasn’t decided exactly what he’s going to tell the coyote, but it’s obvious that he needs to say something. If the Sheriff has Scott and Stiles looking for Malia, then she won’t be safe for long. He’ll find a way to warn her, even if it means shifting into human form and attempting a conversation.

He smells the den before he reaches it, catches the scent of exhaust fumes and people. He slows down, lowers his nose to the ground and inhales. Scott, Stiles, the Sheriff—they were all here, along with scents he doesn’t recognize and one that he remembers from the Tate house, perhaps Tate himself. The place reeks, his own scent and Malia’s erased by the invasion of others.

If he has one silver lining in all of this, it’s that Jackson doubts Scott would have noticed his scent mingled with Malia’s here.

There’s an acrid odor on top of everything else, enough to tickle the inside of his nose, make him sneeze with irritation. Jackson creeps close despite the scent and peers into the den. The small pile of Malia’s things is missing and the doll is gone. Out of everything, she loves that doll the most, and Jackson can’t imagine her leaving without it.

He suspects that she’s gone to seek a new den, and when he finds her and the space, he will also find the doll.

Jackson steps back from the den, moves far enough away that the acrid odor no longer burns in his nose. He seeks each little scent in the space around the den, sifting through them, separating them out and trying to decide which ones are old and which are new. He ignores the places where Stiles and Scott explored, ignores the traces of exhaust fumes that linger in the air. He focuses on finding his coyote, on seeking out where she came from and where she went when she left to continue hiding.

He moves slowly through the woods, her scent faint but drawing him onward. He doesn’t want to lose track of her, wants to remember how to find her new space to live once he finds it. He’s almost at the edge of the woods when he realizes that he isn’t finding her new home; he’s following her to the school.

It’s the middle of the day, the hum of the classes evident to his ears even from a distance. He can’t pick out the specific words, but he recognizes the cadence of instruction and answers. If he tries to follow her into the school, he’s likely to be noticed, and even with a collar, that could be trouble.

Jackson sits down at the edge of the woods, lets his head fall back as he howls, short and low. He follows it up with a quick bark, and a whine, and hears her yip in the distance.

She is somehow _inside_ the school.

He barks again, creeps closer to the school, doing his best to stay out of sight. Inside, the bell rings to signal the end of class, and chairs scrape and papers rustle, conversations igniting. Jackson can’t filter it out, can’t isolate specific voices, but he can move closer to the door. She needs to get out, needs to leave this place before the Sheriff finds her. Because he smells that same exhaust, knows that the Sheriff is here, now, and probably looking for Malia.

He makes it to the door and barks again, his voice covered by the din of students moving. He hears her yip and then she bursts out of the door at a full run. He matches her pace and they race for the woods, ignoring the shouts they hear in the distance, and the startled cries of students who see them.

They don’t stop running until they are deep in the woods, his chest heaving by the time they finally stop and pant, trying to catch their breath. He can smell the agitation rolling off of the coyote, a mix of anxiety and anger and impotent frustration. He moves closer to her, leans his weight into her, and she skitters sideways, turning to growl at him.

Jackson whines, tries to reassure her again, but she steps away and snarls warningly.

Fine, they’ll walk it out. Jackson sets the pace at an easy lope, and after a moment she follows him, staying nearby but not by his side. He takes them in a long loop through the woods before he turns them to head back to the den. He figures that she’s already spooked—he doesn’t want to change back to human and try talking to her now—but he needs to get his point across somehow and the scents in the den seem like a good place to stop.

She barks warningly as they shift direction, and he realizes that she’s stopped following him.

She stands between two trees, head lowered. She shakes her head once, and Jackson sits down. After a long moment, she sits too, her ears pinned back as she watches him.

Jackson rises and takes a step to approach her; she shuffles back, coming to her feet in a slide through dead leaves on the ground.

He takes another step, and she does the same thing, adding a low growl.

Fine, she doesn’t want him to approach her. He sits back down and waits for her to tell him what she wants. She should lead this time.

When she doesn’t move, he flashes his eyes at her, blinking when she flashes her own in return.

 _We both have blue eyes,_ he wants to say. _It’s okay. You can be forgiven_.

She ducks her head and takes a step backward, putting distance between them. Her low yip is obviously an order to stay where he is, and in the end, he lets her go. If she doesn’t want his company, he can’t force her to allow him to follow her. She doesn’t seem to want to go back to the den, or find a new safe haven.

He only hopes she stays safe wherever she is, and in the meantime, maybe Jackson can find a way to distract the humans from trailing after her.

#

Jackson knows that his scent must be everywhere in the Preserve by now; he follows hiking trails and investigates every corner of the space. He catches scents of others occasionally, places where Isaac must have gone crashing through at some point, or old, lingering faded spots that smell almost like Derek. There are hikers in the woods, people who have no idea how strange or dangerous that Beacon Hills is. He skirts the edges of their presence, tries to avoid notice, because everyone knows there are no wolves in California, and he doesn’t feel like getting Animal Control involved when someone calls in a loose dog.

The scent of metal rises along with the thick scent of anger and what Jackson now recognizes as Henry Tate. He sees him laying out a trap, the satisfied expression once it is set, and he realizes that he’s been doing it for a while now, that these woods are riddled with traps. Tate seems to be done, shouldering an empty bag and hiking toward the edge of the woods, but he’s left danger in his wake.

Jackson can’t leave the traps where they are, not with hikers in the woods. Not with Malia running scared and not as wary as she should be.

He lowers his nose to the ground, closes his eyes and tries to filter through the scents. He doesn’t care about the rich, damp earth, or the drying leaves. He doesn’t care about humanity, or deer, or small game. All he cares about is that thick, itching metallic iron, and he lets his nose lead him to where the trap is buried under a small bush.

Jackson drags over a branch, drops it on the trap and jumps back when it closes with a heavy snap, sending fragments of wood everywhere. The method is unpleasant but effective, and the trap is now safe.

There are more, Jackson knows, and he has to try to find as many as he can.

He is meticulous in his attempts to find the traps and spring them, leaving them safely disarmed in his wake. When he catches the scent of a pair of hikers, he waits until they are close before he drops a stick into a trap and jumps back, hiding as he hears the woman shriek.

The pair of them investigate, the man poking at the trap carefully with his walking stick.

“Is there a dead animal in it?” the woman asks, and the man shakes his head.

“No, but something sprung it, and whatever it was is lucky to be alive.” The man pulls out his cell phone, peers at the screen and holds it up. “I think I’ve got enough reception to call 911. No one is supposed to put traps near the hiking trails; it’s too risky to people like us.”

Jackson can hear the tinny sound of the phone ringing in the distance, then a voice as someone picks up. He slinks away carefully, trying to stay out of sight. If the Sheriff’s department is aware of what Tate’s done, they’ll send someone in to clean up. It’s good enough to make Jackson feel better about resuming his search for the coyote to make sure that she has calmed down now, and is okay.

He catches her fresh scent on the path that leads back toward the Tate house, and huffs a sigh as he pads in that direction. She’s stubborn, he’ll give her that, almost as stubborn as he is. But this place is dangerous. No matter what he was to her once, Tate now sees her as the symbol of what took his family away. He has no idea that the coyote is his daughter.

Jackson is close to the house when he hears a shot ring out, smells the smoke and gunpowder. He leaps forward, spots the coyote as she dashes into the woods, ears back as she sprints away from the house. He doesn’t smell blood, but that doesn’t matter, he can hear Tate shouting, following them at a run into the woods.

He hopes to fuck Tate steps in one of his own traps.

He nudges at the coyote, tries to get her to follow him into the safe parts of the woods, and she veers in that direction after several pushes. Tate isn’t as fast as they are, but he’s determinedly following them, and he obviously has another shot in his gun as the sound rings out loudly and a bullet flies past.

The coyote knocks heavily into his shoulder, pushes Jackson off his stride, and her yip is loud and angry when she veers away.

Fine, she wants to split up, he’ll split up. Jackson barks and crashes into the bushes, making as much noise as possible as he runs away from her, hoping Tate will follow him and not her.

No luck, and worse yet, Jackson smells Scott and his pack, the scent fresh and bright as they close in on the coyote. Jackson howls once, short and sharp, to try to warn her as he skids on the dried leaves. He makes a sharp turn, heads back towards Scott and Tate and the coyote. None of the paths lead directly to her, nothing tells him where she is so he can intercept, save her from being found by these idiots of Beacon Hills who are interfering in her life.

He skids to a stop when he hears a howl. _Feels_ the howl shiver through him, deep into his bones. He is dimly aware that the voice belongs to Scott, but he can’t think around it, can’t run away. His claws dig into the ground, his body arching up as pain lances along his spine. He whines, skin rippling with the force of the howl pushing into him, shoving his wolf down and into submission until he is on his all-too-human knees, shivering and naked in the woods.

He can barely breathe, shuddering with the force of the sound as it falls away, echoing in his mind. His body is weak, shaking, and he falls to one side, under a bush, and curls up as he tries to assimilate what happened, how he came to be _human_ again, when it was the last thing he wanted right then.

Jackson lies there for a long time, the sun slowly dipping below the horizon before he feels comfortable moving again. He’s been hidden while he tried to wrestle his psyche back to feeling normal again, and he thinks he’s alone now. When he listens, there are no whispers in the woods and when he breathes in, he doesn’t catch the scent on the wind of anyone he knows.

Not even the coyote.

He sits, not caring how rough the leaves are on his naked ass, and wraps his arms around his bent legs, rests his chin on his knees. Eyes closed, he breathes in and out, seeks the wolf that cowers deep inside of him. He calls to it in whispered tones, relaxes into the feel of it flowing over him, changing skin to fur and reclaiming his body.

If he could touch his collar in this form, he would; instead he mollifies himself with bending his head to touch his paw momentarily, satisfied that he’s able to be Kula once more.

He takes the slow path back to Danny’s house, going over the final events of the day in his mind again and again.

Something in Scott McCall’s howl forced Jackson to shift back to human. Lydia called him a True Alpha, like it was special, and Jackson wonders if that’s it or if any Alpha could do it. Because of _course_ McCall is something special, doesn’t that just figure?

He shifts as soon as he arrives, rapping once on the door as a warning before he steps inside and grabs his robe, wrapping it around himself. He’s still chilled after the forced shift, but he warms quickly after he makes a cup of coffee and sits at the table to drink it.

“What happened?” Danny drops into the chair across from him at the table, points to the robe that is gaping open slightly to show Jackson’s chest. “We had a coyote in the school today.” The words are leading, expecting something, and Jackson is happy to give it to him.

He tells him about Tate and the traps, and the shot, and McCall’s howl. He drinks down his cup of coffee while he speaks, then a cup of hot cocoa that Danny hands him as soon as his mug is empty. “I don’t know,” he finally says in the end, shaking his head. “I was a wolf, then I heard that, and I was human. I have to think the same thing happened to her. That they caught her.”

It hurts to think of the Sheriff hauling Malia in as a murderer, making her pay for something she probably didn’t have any control over. He hopes that Scott and Stiles are able to convince him otherwise.

“Do you have any idea what happened to her after that?” Danny leans forward on the table, his own cocoa cradled in his hands. Jackson shakes his head.

“Not a clue,” he admits.

There’s a low buzz, and Danny glances at his phone on the table, swipes at it to clear the message that appeared. When Jackson raises an eyebrow, Danny shrugs. “Ethan. I’m not answering him.”

“Good.” Jackson has no idea how long Ethan has been texting Danny, but at least he’s doing the right thing with one person.

“I don’t cheat, and if I’m getting back together with Bran—”

Jackson cuts him off with a glare, and Danny goes silent. _If_ he’s getting back together. “There’s a chance you’re not getting back together with him, even though you’ve been making out in the hallways?”

Danny just looks at him, shakes his head. “I haven’t decided yet. But I’m not going to encourage Ethan, either, especially when he broke up with me.”

“Brandon broke up with you,” Jackson points out, because if he can drive that wedge between them while Danny sounds uncertain, he’s going to.

Danny just shakes his head again. “I’m not having the same conversation we keep having, Jackson.”

“The only way it’s going to change is if you dump both of them,” Jackson points out. He glances at Danny’s phone which is buzzing again, but Danny flips it over, hides the incoming texts from view.

“There are other ways the conversation could change but that’s not happening, either.” Danny grabs the two empty mugs, carries them to the sink and sets them in. He runs water into them and leaves them to soak, shoulders tense as he moves. Jackson can’t identify the scent that rises in the room, can’t tease out the emotions behind it.

Danny takes a slow breath, reaches for a towel to dry his hands, and by the time he turns his expression is even. “We should go up and set up an alert for you on Google. If she’s arrested, that’ll make the news, especially in relation to an eight year old cold case. And if Tate miraculously gets his daughter back, that’ll be even bigger news. People love feel good stories, and finding a kid you thought was dead is one of the best.”

Jackson stands and the robe gaps open, hanging loose by his sides. Danny leaves the kitchen, and Jackson stands there for a moment, then tugs the robe closed, tying it quickly. He feels naked, even with it on, and that’s not a sensation he likes.

By the time he gets upstairs, Danny has Jackson’s laptop open and is in the browser, searching and setting alerts so that Jackson will be the one to get the notifications. He’s barely started when the first one pings on Jackson’s phone with a picture of nine year old Malia Tate and her family, followed by the caption _Missing Girl Reunited With Father_.

At least she isn’t being prosecuted for murder.

Jackson sinks onto the end of the bed, phone loose in his hand. Danny closes Jackson’s laptop, leaves it next to his own on the desk, then the bed dips as Danny climbs under the covers. Jackson just reads the article again, thinking how it must feel to be yanked back from the life you had found for yourself, the one that was safe. He wonders how she feels about being human again.

“Sleep,” Danny says, his voice already loose with oncoming dreams.

Jackson stands long enough to get the light. He undoes the tie of the robe, lets it hang loosely but doesn’t take it off. He has his back to Danny, and is pretty sure that with human eyes, Danny isn’t watching him in the darkness. But he still reaches furtively, brushes his fingers along the front of the collar for just a fleeting moment, a brief chance to try to settle a heart that is still pounding.

He should strip down and pull on boxers for the night, or shift into Kula. But Jackson is loathe to drop the robe and bare himself, so he shifts out of it, letting it puddle on the floor around him as he takes on fur and teeth. He leaps onto the bed, lies across Danny’s feet, and searches for fitful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! It's been a crazy weekend here, ending up a crazy month during which my son graduated from 8th grade and my daughter graduated from high school. I'm hoping this is where things calm down a little for the summer. Writingwise, I am hard at work on the sequel to this book while also working on [Welcome to PHU](http://welcometophu.tumblr.com) (my original project). If you want to come by and say hi, you can find me [on tumblr as tryslora](http://tryslora.tumblr.com), otherwise, I'll see you here next week for the next chapter, on Sunday, July 3rd!


	21. Chapter 21

Jackson pads along familiar paths through the woods, slowing as he approaches the Tate house. He inhales, tastes the scent that is almost familiar that now lingers here, and makes note of how _coyote_ and _Malia_ have distinct notes. It makes sense—this is why the pack hasn’t realized he’s here. That, and the fact that McCall probably has no idea how to properly use his nose.

He eases toward the front of the house, sees the empty driveway, then approaches the back door. It is yanked open before he reaches it, and a girl stands there, her hair long and curly and barely combed. She blinks at him, and Jackson barks softly.

“Change,” she says, her voice low and a little rough. When he sits back on his haunches, she glares at him, eyebrows furrowed. “ _Change_.”

Fine.

Jackson lowers his head, lets the change wash over him until he’s kneeling on human knees in the grass, hands curled with fingernails embedded in the dirt. He glances up, sees her gaze fall to the collar around his neck, and he manages to resist touching it in response.

“He owns you,” she says.

“I own me, and _he_ is Danny,” Jackson replies. “Can we go inside? I’m naked.”

“I don’t care.” She shrugs one shoulder. “We slept naked in the same den. Why should it matter now?” Her words are slightly slower, careful, as if she’s translating in her mind. Jackson can see that he was right: she understood the language as a coyote, and was listening when they spoke.

“I don’t care, either, but your neighbors would if they saw me.” Jackson keeps his voice even, and mostly it’s true. He doesn’t care if she sees him naked. He does care about the neighbors, and he doesn’t want to be recognized. “So let’s go inside, unless you want them calling your father to tell them you’re talking to some naked guy outside.”

She tilts her head, then huffs softly as she backs up, pulling the door wide. “Fine. You can come in as long as you teach me how to do that.”

“What, change?” Jackson holds up a hand, but she’s already stripping, pulling her shirt off her shoulders and unhooking her bra with an expression of intense irritation.

She turns her back on him. “Take it off,” she orders. “It’s weird and uncomfortable and I don’t like it. I won’t need it when I’m the coyote so take it off.”

“Maybe we should at least exchange names,” Jackson quips, eyebrows rising when she looks back over her shoulder to glare at him. “Fine, fine, naked it is.” He undoes the clasp with practiced fingers and lets her toss it aside.

She skins out of her jeans shorts and underwear, her feet already bare and dusty from the floor. Hands on her hips, she looks at him. “Well? Show me how to change back.”

Jackson steps away from her and lowers himself to the ground. He reaches for his inner wolf, lets the change sweep over him until he’s shaking out his fur with a low rumble of pleasure at being back in this skin. He sits back on his haunches, looks up at her and barks to encourage her to do it as well.

Her brow furrows and she lowers herself slowly, her limbs awkward as if she isn’t quite sure how they work. She ends up kneeling, hands reaching forward to plant on the ground as she frowns deeply. A low growl builds in her throat, her eyes flashing, and she looks up at him, baring her teeth in a snarl. But in the end, she stays absolutely human.

“Trapped,” she mutters, and Jackson has to agree. “Tell me how you do it.”

Jackson melts back to human, stays seated on the floor across from her. “I can’t. I just do it. I want to be the wolf, and I’m the wolf. I want to be human, and I’m that. I’ve been going back and forth all summer, and it sounds to me like you were the coyote for years before Scott howled.” He leans forward, cocks his head and raises and eyebrow. “That’s what happened, isn’t it? Scott howled you back to human form.”

The corner of her lip lifts in a snarl. “He doesn’t even have fur. You told them.”

“I didn’t tell anyone about you.” Jackson leans back again. “When I was on four feet, I didn’t want to be found by anyone but Danny, and I figured you didn’t either. You were happy. I was going to leave you that way.”

“Then _why_?” She pushes to her feet, stalks away. “Why would they do that to me?”

“Knowing McCall—Scott—he thought he was saving you,” Jackson says dryly. “He doesn’t get it.”

When she turns back to him, her eyes are soft and warm, a small smile tilting her lips. “You do. You understand.”

“I do.” He pushes to his feet as well, reaches for a pocket that isn’t there. “I should come back and get you with my car, so we can—” He stops, realizing she’s off the couch and on the opposite side of the room, eyes wide, whites thick and pupils tiny. “What is it?”

“No cars,” she says softly. “I don’t like them.”

Right, her family was killed in a car crash, and she was there. Maybe she even caused the crash if she transformed for the first time.

“I was going to suggest getting you a phone, so we could keep in touch,” he explains, but she’s shaking her head all over again. “Do you know what one is?” He tries to keep his voice even, not to make it sound like he thinks she’s a child, but her eyeroll is heavy and her glare dark.

“I know what a phone is. Hikers.” She nods sagely, and Jackson has to admit, they are everywhere in the Preserve. Overhearing conversations was probably a great way to learn about humanity, even when she wasn’t part of it.

“I don’t need one,” she says. “I’m not staying. I need to go back.”

Jackson licks his lips, tries to figure out how to word this. “You can’t live naked in the woods.”

“Once I change back into a coyote, I can.”

He can’t fault that logic. “Except you can’t change back.”

Her head tilts, a small smile tilting her lips. “You’ll figure out how to teach me. Eventually.”

“I’ve been told it’s a pretty rare talent by someone who would know,” Jackson says dryly, remembering his conversation with Cora. “And no, I didn’t tell her about you. She was talking about me.”

“Can she teach me?” She takes two quick steps toward him, stopping when Jackson shakes his head.

“She doesn’t know how, and she was surprised I did,” he admits. “We’ll find a way to teach you. Eventually.” It just might take a while, since Jackson has no idea what he’s doing when he does it other than going back to the first place he felt comfortable after becoming a wolf. “I don’t mind coming back, but next time I’m wearing clothes and coming on two feet. And you’re not going to tell anyone else that I’m here.”

She takes a step back, expression twisting into confusion. “Why would I? I don’t want to see anyone.” Her gaze skitters sideways, and Jackson can guess the exception to that rule as she looks at the hall.

“How are things with your father?”

Her expression sets, and she crosses her arms. “Fine.” She glances at the hall again, shrugs one shoulder. “He doesn’t believe me. I even told him about the deer, and finding the traps. If I could show him, he’d believe me.”

“Your eyes?” Flashing eyes can be explained away as a trick of the light, but if she does it often enough, he might admit that there’s something going on.

She shakes her head. “Doesn’t happen when I want it to. Does it for you?”

Jackson blinks, makes his eyes go bright blue in response to her words, and she snarls as if it’s his fault that she can’t do the same.

“I’ll make him believe me,” she says quietly.

Jackson feels adrift, not sure how to navigate the conversation. “You kept coming back to see him,” he says slowly, and she smiles slightly.

“Of course I did. He’s pack. I wouldn’t leave him.” Such simple words, but so definite. “You understand.”

And he does, he gets it completely and thoroughly. You don’t walk away from pack.

Her head tilts. “He’s coming home. You should go.”

“Yeah, he’d be upset if he walked in on you naked with a guy,” Jackson mutters, heading for the door.

“Why?”

That is not a conversation they are having now. “Humans wear clothes,” Jackson says. “There are a lot of rules. Humans care about things that you don’t need to care about when you wear fur and walk on four feet.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ve noticed.” She yanks open the door, pushes him into the back yard. “Go.”

He hesitates. “I’m Jackson,” he says, finally introducing himself.

She rocks back on her heels, considers him for a long moment. “Malia,” she says, then closes the door in his face.

He can hear the car approaching. The only thing left for him to do is change and run into the woods.

#

 _Ethan’s back. The school is on lockdown_.

Jackson picks up the phone from the passenger seat and frowns as he looks at it. He’s sitting in the parking lot of the mall, several bags on the seat. He tugs his hoodie up a bit more as someone walks by, focuses on his phone so they won’t see his face. _Are those related?_ Because he has to ask that; the twins were more trouble than they were worth.

 _No. They both just happened to occur today. Ethan isn’t here to cause trouble_.

Jackson glances at the bag on the seat, then back at his own phone. He was planning on visiting Malia. It’s been two weeks, so he figures she has to admit eventually that she’s not getting back into the Preserve any time soon and he’s bought her a phone. Typing should be interesting; she’s not really interested in technology. He figures what the hell, it’s not like anyone else is showing up to do anything about helping her remember how to be human. Just another fucked up McCall pack thing—turning her into a girl and then dumping her into the cold human world to figure it out on her own. Idiots.

It’s not like she’s expecting him to show up at a particular time. He slides down in his seat, gets comfortable while he texts. _Why’s the school on lockdown, then?_

 _Escaped murderer might be in here_.

That doesn’t make Jackson feel any better. _Well fuck. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes_. It’s not a big deal; he can change his plans. Even if there’s not much Kula could do, at least he’d be there if Danny needs something.

_I’m fine, Jackson. He’s probably not even here._

There’s no way Danny can know for sure, and that bothers Jackson. The Sheriff’s office doesn’t usually put a place on lockdown unless there’s a fairly good likelihood that the person is there.

 _We haven’t been evacuated_.

Okay, Danny might have a point with that one.

 _We haven’t even been gathered into one room. I’m going to lunch soon. We get to walk in the halls_.

Jackson mumbles under his breath, but he can’t deny that Danny has several good points. _Fine. You don’t need me. I get it. You can protect yourself from the evil murderer and from Ethan_.

There’s a long pause, and Jackson’s probably gone too far by mentioning Ethan. He starts the car, cranks the music loud enough that a woman walking nearby glances over. He almost misses the buzz of the incoming text, but catches it just in time to pick it up before he leaves.

 _Lydia’s acting weird again_.

Jackson throws the car in park. _Weird like drawing a tree in the wrong classroom weird?_

 _Weird like hearing flies when there aren’t any, weird_.

Jackson’s fingers still on the keyboard, and he switches over to a different recipient, sends Lydia a quick text asking if she’s okay before he switches back to Danny. _Keep an eye on her_.

There’s a long pause this time before the message comes back. _She’s with the others, and they’ll take care of her. Lunch bell. I have plans_.

Jackson waits for five minutes, but there are no more texts. With a grumble, he tosses the phone on the seat and pulls out of the parking lot, heading for the Tate house. Whatever Danny’s up to, he’s not talking, and the news isn’t saying anything useful about the manhunt or lockdown. At this point, it’s obvious no one wants him involved, and he’s better off trying to teach a coyote how to text on a cell phone.

It’s going to be a very weird afternoon.

#

“Are you going out for Mischief Night?” Danny’s mother pokes her head into the room, her expression caught somewhere between stern and curious. Jackson pulls his feet up on the bed, snickering to himself, because of course she can’t decide whether to approve or ground them, just in case.

Danny’s bent over his laptop, changing screens as soon as the door opens. He glances up, blinks in that way he has when he’s interrupted in the middle of something. “We’re staying in tonight,” he says. “After the lockdown, I don’t want to be out tonight. Besides, there’s a Halloween party tomorrow night.”

Mrs. Mahealani tilts her head, and Jackson swears she’s trying to smell a lie. “Where is that?”

“Lydia’s,” Danny’s tone is even, his heartbeat steady. Jackson’s impressed. “Costume party. Jackson and I are going over early to help her set up.”

She makes a small noise, like she isn’t sure she believes him, but she doesn’t push, either. “I want you home at a decent hour tomorrow.”

“Midnight,” Danny says, and his mother counters with eleven and he agrees easily.

As soon as the door closes, Danny switches back to the tab he has open with the final information for ordering drinks for Halloween.

“One of these days she’s going to catch you,” Jackson murmurs, and Danny laughs.

“I’m too good,” he says, grinning, cheeks dimpling, and it’s enough that it makes Jackson grin back. “You’re coming to the party, right? A little makeup and no one will ever know it’s you.”

There are other possible issues, like scent, but Jackson hopes that in that big of a crowd, his own scent won’t stand out to the few wolves of Beacon Hills. “Of course I’m going. Save a dance for me.”

Danny looks away. “You’re still not my type, Jackson.” He presses a key on the laptop, then switches tabs. “I need to finalize the details for the warehouse.”

“Maybe I just want to make sure Ethan’s not prowling after you.” Which is at least partially true. Jackson crosses his legs, lets his hands fall to his knees as he sits up. “Now that he’s back—”

“I don’t think he’s interested.” The words come too quickly, and Jackson can smell the way Danny’s scent shifts. There’s nothing playful left, only something irritable, frustrated, rancid and upset. “He was in the basement when I was down there with Bran today.”

Jackson could probably fill in the blanks on his own, but he pokes at it anyway. “Exactly how _with_ Brandon were you?”

“We were making out. Fully dressed.”

“Well, there’s that at least,” Jackson says dryly. “Because the boiler room is a great place to get naked.”

“Just because you used to have Lydia blow you in Coach’s office,” Danny counters. “Some of us prefer _not_ to risk getting caught.”

“And Ethan still caught you.” The words fall flat, and Danny’s shoulders go tense as soon as Jackson’s done speaking.

“Jackson—” Danny’s voice trails off as his phone rings, and he picks it up before the second chime. “Hey, Bran.”

He could eavesdrop; it’d be as simple as tuning his hearing to listen past Danny, through the phone. It’s not as if Brandon knows to keep his voice down so the werewolf on the other hand can’t hear him. Jackson reaches for his headphones, plugs one bud into one ear and turns on his music, masking the far end of the conversation.

“We’re not,” Danny says quietly. “Bran, it’s not like that.” A long pause, and a fresh wave of upset from Danny as he winces. “I can’t break up with you if we never actually got back together,” Danny finally says, and he pulls back slightly from the phone.

Even with one headphone in and music blaring, Jackson can hear the upset rumble of Brandon’s voice, the distinct words _you are not dumping me_ coming through the line.

“Brandon— _fuck_!” The room is plunged into darkness and Danny lowers the phone, sets it on the desk and ignores Brandon yelling over the still-open line.

Jackson yanks his headphones out, turns off his music as he pulls the door open and calls out, “Did the whole block lose power or just us?”

“Looks like it’s everyone,” Mr. Mahealani calls back, and Danny swears.

Danny grabs the phone, snaps, “My laptop’s dying and we are not doing this again.” There’s a flicker across Danny’s screen, and he slams the phone down on the desk again, thankfully silent. “Fuck fuck fuck,” Danny mutters. “It’s not just a blackout, there was a surge.”

Their phones both whine in concert, an incoming alert that the power is out throughout the entire county of Beacon Hills and all residents should shelter in place. The alert ends, and Danny’s laptop flickers and goes out. Danny pushes back in his chair, swearing.

“You’ll be able to reboot it when we get power back,” Jackson points out. “It shouldn’t be that long.”

“Shelter in place doesn’t usually bode well,” Danny grumbles, sliding down to the floor and unplugging his laptop. “That’ll keep it from being fried when the power comes back, but I think it might have already been done in. Can I use yours—no, never mind. We don’t have internet. Shit. I needed to finish this up before tomorrow.”

Jackson waves his phone in suggestion, and Danny makes a face before picking his phone up, focusing in on the tiny browser.

“We should eat the ice cream out of the freezer,” Jackson says lightly. “It’s only going to melt, and you did just break up with Brandon for what, the third time now?”

“We weren’t together.”

“Ice cream is still going to melt.” Jackson sets his phone aside. “I’ll go get it. We’re just going to have to make do without Netflix.”

“Go get the ice cream. I’m going to fix my laptop.” Danny carries it to the bed, pushes the power button and watches it flicker. He glances at Jackson, and there’s no scent, no clue what he’s thinking as Danny says quietly, “I’m not going to say no to ice cream, Jackson, but my heart’s not broken.”

“Because Ethan’s back.” Jackson can follow the logic, even if he doesn’t like it. “Fine.” He doesn’t need to stick around and belabor the point, not when ice cream is starting to melt in the freezer. Might as well finish it off.

#

“The power should be back by now,” Jackson grumbles, tapping a message into his phone. _It’s amazing how boring Beacon Hills is in the dark_.

 _I’m pretty sure you’re bored by Beacon Hills all the time_ , Cora replies. _Are you sure you shouldn’t have gone to London?_

“The news said it’s a major power outage and it could be hours.” Danny turns his laptop on for the fourth time, and for the fourth time it sputters and dies while Danny swears at it.

 _I’m beginning to wonder. But my pack is here_.

_Danny? Lydia? How is Lydia? Is she back with Aiden?_

Jackson snorts, rolling his eyes at the phone, holding it up when Danny looks at him curious. “Cora likes gossip,” he says before he answers. _I have no idea if Lydia is back with Aiden. They just came back to school. But yes. Danny. Lydia. My pack._

And then there’s Malia, who hates technology and her new phone and has texted Jackson exactly once to say _this is stupid_ since he left her house earlier. But he’s not going to mention Malia to Cora, much like he hasn’t said a word to Lydia yet, either.

_Do you think she’s going to get back together with him?_

Aiden, Ethan… Jackson doesn’t want to talk about either of them. _Do I care? It’s not like I have a say in who she dates_.

There’s a string of emojis popping up on his phone, mostly laughter with tears. _Do you ever listen to yourself talk? You can’t keep your nose out of Danny’s dating life, but you don’t care who Lydia fucks?_

His jaw goes tight. _I care. I just can’t stop her._

 _You can’t stop Danny, either_.

Jackson glances sideways, where Danny has the laptop open, the hard drive pulled out as he blows air into the fan, cleaning it out. “Any luck?”

“Can’t figure out what fried, but I’ll find it.” Danny sets down the laptop upside down, starts undoing the screws holding the case together.

Yeah, he can’t stop Danny from dating Ethan. Which sucks.

 _Why do you care so much who Lydia dates?_ Maybe turning the conversation back on Cora will help.

Her return message of _it’s late, gotta go_ pops up just as a notification from Lydia rings through. Danny glances over, and Jackson murmurs, “Lydia, finally,” as he goes to check it.

_I’m fine. Worried about my new friend._

Because she’s responding to the text he sent hours ago when she was hearing invisible flies. _What happened?_

The phone rings, and he answers before the sound fades. “Hello, Lydia.”

“The blackout,” she says, tone tight and clipped. He can hear the speed of her heart, the sound echoed by the tapping of fingernails on the steering wheel. “It is very possible that my new friend was just electrocuted, and I am sitting in a car waiting for Stiles and Scott to come back out with her. I am hoping that she is still alive.”

“That’s… I have no idea how to answer that.” Jackson glances at Danny, mouths _Lydia_ at the curious look. “New friend?”

“Kira. She’s adorable—you’d hate her on sight, I’m sure.” Lydia sighs, the sound irritable. “Distract me, Jackson.”

“Are you dating Aiden again?” Jackson says the first thing that comes to mind, ignoring the way Danny snorts.

“I am not going to save you when she takes you apart, cell by cell,” Danny murmurs, and Jackson shoulders him, grumbling.

“It’s none of your business, but I might consider reconnecting with him.” Lydia taps a fingernail against her phone. “Why? Has Danny reconnected with Ethan?” There’s a subtle emphasis on the verb that has Jackson putting mental quotes around it, translating it into a euphemism that has him closing his eyes and shaking his head.

“He was busy with Brandon.”

“I heard about that from Aiden.” A small noise of amusement. “As entertaining as it is watching you go around in circles, Jackson, it’s not the best way of distracting me. My friend could be dead.”

“Is that what the flies meant?” He’s trying to connect the dots, trying to solve an equation when he’s pretty sure he’s missing half the variables.

“Flies? Oh.” He imagines her frowning, hears her shifting in her seat. “I thought they meant Barrow was hiding in the school. But no, I don’t hear them right this moment.” She pauses, then adds quietly, “I haven’t screamed. I think Kira is alive.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“They’re coming out.” There’s a creak of the door opening, and Jackson hears Lydia calling out in the distance, the sound of feet approaching. She picks up the phone, whispering, “I have to go. Kira’s okay and the Sheriff is here. The substation is blown.”

The line clicks dead and Jackson stares at the phone in his hand. “Lydia just told me that Kira blew up the substation.”

Danny blinks at him. “Beacon Hills,” he says quietly, and Jackson can’t help but agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo! It's a long weekend here in the US, and I'm very much enjoying every second of it. I took extra time off and I don't have to go back to work until Wednesday! If you're in the US and celebrating, be careful with fireworks and enjoy the light shows. Me, I'm hoping to make a lovely dinner tonight (we're running the smoker) and write all day before that. Fingers crossed, anyway. I'm working on both original work and the sequel to this story. I want to get it to the point where I can start posting the first chapter of the sequel on the same day that the final episode to this posts.
> 
> So here we are, and we have finally fallen into the thick of 3b's plotline. Malia! I hope you guys like her. I've really enjoyed getting to work with her and create that bond between her and Jackson, and now they can have conversations. Whee!
> 
> The next part will post on Sunday, July 10. Until then, you can find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com). See you then!


	22. Chapter 22

The power doesn’t come back. Jackson expects to wake up to the sound of Danny’s alarm, but instead it’s to pounding on the bedroom door.

“I know wolves don’t go to school, but Danny, you still need to go and you’re going to be late.” Mrs. Mahealani calls out, nudging the door open. Jackson burrows under the pillow as Danny sits up. It’s bright in the room, but Jackson is hopeful that he can go back to sleep.

Mrs. Mahealani stands there as Danny gets out of bed, waits until Danny has left the room and Jackson hears the bathroom door close and the shower turn on. Then she comes in and sits on the edge of the bed.

Jackson shoves the pillow off his head, blinks to try to clear the sleep from his eyes.

“We have a guest room for you,” she says quietly. “You are still young enough that I expect good behavior while you’re staying in my house, Jackson.”

He frowns, not following until her gaze drops and he remembers that he’s definitely not wearing a shirt, and while she can’t see it, he’s not wearing anything else, either. “I started out as a wolf,” he replies. “I usually sleep in here as the wolf. It’s just—easier. I sleep better.” He has no idea how much of the truth his mother told her, and he really doesn’t want to potentially destroy his relationship with his best friend’s mother by confessing that he killed people. “I must have had a nightmare and changed back. Besides.” He shrugs one shoulder, keeps his voice even. “You know I’m not Danny’s type.”

She just looks at him, her gaze calm and even and somewhat gentle, and it occurs to him that saying that Danny’s not _his_ type would have been the better way to go. After a long moment, she reaches to squeeze Jackson’s shoulder. “You should think about going back to school,” she says quietly. “And if you want to talk about why you’re afraid of school, I’m available.”

“I’m not afraid of going back to school. I just don’t see the point.” Jackson rolls his eyes because it’s the truth. Mostly. He’s not _afraid_ of school. He just doesn’t want to deal with all those people that he may have hurt as the kanima.

The shower shuts off, and soon enough, Danny comes back. “Mom…” he says, voice low, and looks at the door.

“Breakfast is on the counter; eat before you go.” She kisses his cheek and heads out, and Danny grumbles as he starts to get ready quickly.

“The information on where to pick up the paint and supplies for the party is on my desk,” Danny says. “You pick everything up, and meet me at the warehouse. I have to call them this morning and make sure they have a generator, because we need enough power for the blacklights and the DJ. Just don’t let my mom know something is up, okay?” He grabs his laptop and charger, shoves them in his bag. “Maybe I can make this thing work at school. I’ll email you as soon as I get the files I need off of it for the party.”

“I’ll take care of everything, don’t worry. You just get the stuff to me, and if you need me to call people, get the numbers to me.” Jackson’s almost looking forward to this thing. The party will be dark, people will be painted. It’s a good chance to show off and remain anonymous at the same time.

“Thank you. Keep an eye out for texts. Charge your phone in the car.”

“Stop talking to me like I’m five.” Jackson puts his hands on Danny’s shoulders, shoves him toward the door. “Go to school and make your mom happy. I won’t whisper a word to her. It’s going to be a good night. Party of the year.”

“Until Lydia has a better one.” Danny laughs ruefully, but Jackson can’t dispute it. Lydia’s parties have always been the most popular, and he doubts that will change, even though she’s hanging out with people like McCall and Stilinski.

#

_Aiden found a place. I need you to meet us there. Bring the stuff._

Jackson’s been listening to Danny rant all day about the lack of power and losing his warehouse because they didn’t have a generator. It’s Halloween, and most of the kids of Beacon Hills don’t care; he’s heard chattering all day while he’s been out picking up supplies for Danny. But the party needs power.

 _I’ve got the paint, brushes, and a shit ton of water in the back of my car. Where am I taking it?_ Jackson tosses the phone on the bed after he sends the message, going through the dresser in the guest room to find something to wear. If he’s meeting Danny with Aiden and Ethan, he’s not going to be himself. Ethan’s seen him, but he’ll be better as the wolf. And he doesn’t want to make it any easier for the twins to pay attention to him when he’s on two legs. So he packs his clothes in a neat pile, and carries them out to the car, tossing them on the front seat.

It’s not like he needs much. The whole point of a blacklight party is partial nudity. Makes it pretty much perfect.

His phone buzzes, and he picks it, frowning when he sees the address. _Fuck._ Unless there has been a lot of construction in the last few weeks, there is only one viable place in that building for a party.

He slides into the seat and buckles in, turning on the car and cranking up the stereo. He still has the phone in his hand, so he fires off one quick text to Cora. _If I die tonight, blame your brother_.

He tosses the phone on the seat and sees the laughter emojis pop up, and he wants to know why she thinks that’s _funny_ when he’s being totally fucking serious. Because that address that Danny sent? Is Derek’s loft.

Jackson leaves the supplies in the car when he gets there, parks it out of the way so it will be ignored. Ethan and Aiden are a pair of werewolves—Danny can make them do the heavy lifting and carry all the shit inside.

He changes into fur and pads inside, makes his way inside. The door to the loft is wide open when he gets there, and Jackson’s nostrils flare, catching a fresh scent of Derek. That at least explains Cora’s electronic laughter.

“Who owns this place?” Danny’s looking around at the space, checking out the stage set up for the DJ, the space surprisingly well lit just by the light shining in through the huge windows. The furniture has all been pushed to the side, leaving plenty of space in the room, and fresh bulbs hung from the lights. Jackson catches the scent of Aiden and Ethan layered over everything in the loft, almost masking the older, thick scent of Derek that lies under everything.

“Doesn’t matter, he’s out of town.” Ethan’s grin is bright, easy. “Do you like it?” His head cocks, and Jackson hears the sound of a generator catching and firing up. Ethan moves to the wall, touches the switch and the blacklights come on.

It’s impossible to hide, Jackson’s pale fur luminescent under the lights. He whuffs, and Danny glances at him, and _fuck_ , Danny’s just grinning, like this is the best gift.

Because of course Ethan can do exactly what Jackson can’t.

Ethan moves closer to Danny, but Danny backs out of his touch, looking back at the door. “A friend dropped off his car with the paint and water. As soon as we get it unloaded, he’ll go get some ice,” Danny says.

Ethan’s gaze drops to Jackson, and Jackson curls one lip, snarling slightly. “Yeah, I’ll go get Aiden to help bring that in.”

Danny describes the car, and Ethan leaves, banging the sliding door shut behind him. Jackson flows back to human, and Danny glares at him.

“Do you really want to risk this now?” Danny asks.

“This is Derek’s place,” Jackson says quickly. “And I don’t think Derek’s as _out of town_ as they think he is.”

“He’s not here,” Danny tells him. “This place has no food in the kitchen, it looks like it hasn’t been lived in for the last month. Didn’t you say Derek took a road trip with Cora to wherever she’s from? It’ll take him weeks to drive back.”

“They flew part of the way, rented a car for the rest.” Jackson crosses his arms. “I can smell him, Danny. You’re playing with fire.”

The elevator clanks down the hall, and Jackson knows he can’t stay like this. He shakes his head. “Just be careful, Danny. If Derek comes back and you’re holding a party in his place, he’s not going to be happy.”

Footsteps in the hall, and Jackson takes a step back, melts into fur and four feet. He heads for the door, sliding through as Ethan opens it, and the twins carry in flats of water topped with tins of paint. Aiden glances at Jackson, and as Jackson noses the door at the end of the hall open, he hears Aiden’s low voice asking Ethan, “What was that?”

Jackson doesn’t stick around to hear the answer, doesn’t want to know what they’re willing to discuss in front of Danny. If it’s important, Danny will tell him later. If Ethan’s spilling secrets, there’s not much Jackson can do about it other than hope for the best.

And bite him later.

Jackson waits in the shadows for Ethan and Aiden to come back and finish unloading the car. As soon as they’re gone, he changes back to human and dresses quickly, heading out to get ice. On his way out, he passes by a Toyota pulling in, sees kids in costume racing up to scream _trick-or-treat_ at the driver.

The kids have it easy on Halloween. All the darkness, all the supernatural things—they’re all fantasy. And it’s funny how now that Jackson finally has all the power he wanted, he wonders sometimes if it’d be easier to still be that innocent. And that’s never going to happen again

#

When Jackson gets back, he takes the one tin of paint and the brush that he’d hidden in his glove compartment and painstakingly paints his face. He uses the paint to change the contours of his cheeks, change the well-defined outline of his jaw. He knows his face is distinctive, but this is one place where—with a little work—he can hide in plain sight.

He doesn’t bother with a shirt, just pulling on tight jeans, and leaving his feet bare as well. He paints the lines of the bones in his feet, with points on each toe as if they were claws. It looks ridiculous in the dim light of his phone, but he knows it will shine when he gets upstairs.

He can hear the sound, feel the thump of the bass and the echo of it in the heartbeats of a crowd. It crawls under his skin while the elevator rises, two girls with him in the small space, leaning together and whispering words that they think he doesn’t hear. He doesn’t know who _Liam_ is, doesn’t care about whoever these freshman are giggling about. They burst out of the elevator as soon as it opens, and he follows more slowly after them, inhaling, readying his body for the onslaught.

Noise spills out into the hall, one song trailing into another, the beat refusing to die between moments. The place is packed thick with teenagers, the scent of hormones and sweat permeating the entire loft. Jackson knows there must be people here that he knows, but he can’t isolate any specific scents among the thickness of the musk.

Someone brushes past him, hand trailing down Jackson’s arm, hand sliding across his ass. They pat him and move on, and as he turns, he finds himself face to face with a girl holding a pot of paint and a brush.

“You didn’t finish!” she yells out cheerfully. “You look like a disembodied face!”

Jackson looks right at her, meets her eyes and manages to dredge a name out of his memory. Hayley, a year behind him, one of the fall cheerleaders. He remembers her on the football field, cheering for the sorry excuse of a team that Beacon Hills has. She’s bright and perky and she likes to swim some mornings after the swim team finishes up with the pool during the winter months.

And she smiles widely and blinks at him, and doesn’t seem to recognize him at all.

 _Perfect_.

Jackson taps his chest then spreads his hands, his grin cocky. She doesn’t say anything else, simply comes in close and paints his chest with some kind of meticulous pattern that has a thick stripe down the center and lines along his ribs radiating out, with small spikes and points along the way. She grips his shoulders, turns him and does his back as well, with some kind of spiral curl at the base of his spine.

It’s not like the pattern matters. For once, all he plans on doing is blending in.

He moves into the crowd, searching for Danny. He can’t tease out the scent, but he does manage to spot him, just as Ethan tears Danny’s shirt away, baring his chest for the girl about to paint it.

Jackson’s lips press thinly and he turns his back on them, unwilling to watch them together.

It’s easy to forget with the music and the crowd. Jackson finds a space and slots himself in with a girl, letting her get her hand on his chest while he puts one hand on her hip, draws her in. His hips move easily in time with hers, and when someone comes in behind him, he doesn’t question it, simply reaches back to anchor them there and rotate his hips back against them.

It’s a rush of pheromones, a heady scent that has him half-hard in his jeans, and it irritates him because this feels good, but at the same time, it isn’t what he wants. What he needs. He needs something more than this, something different than this.

And when the girl leans in close, her hand on his shoulder, mouth seeking his, Jackson pulls back. He slips out of the way, pushes her into the arms of the guy who was dancing behind them, and he leaves them there, making out in the middle of the dance floor.

It’s a rush of fresh scent that leaves him aching, but it’s not the right scent.

He’s alone in the middle of the dance floor, turning in place as he tries to get his bearings. He spots Lydia off to one side on her own, lips pressed together as if she’s bored and there under duress. Her gaze falls on him briefly, and she blinks once as if to acknowledge him, then looks away. He follows the path of her gaze, spots Stiles awkwardly dancing, and Allison and Isaac painting each other brightly. Danny seems to be on his own, and Jackson makes his way through the crowd, sidling up next to him.

“Have you seen Ethan?” Danny leans in close, his voice pitched for Jackson’s ears. “He went off to get more ice, and I haven’t seen him since. And I swear I saw something.”

There’s a note in Danny’s voice that slips under Jackson’s skin, makes him worry. “Saw something like what?”

“I don’t know. Something dark, in the shadows.”

Jackson raises an eyebrow, because there is one logical thing that might very well be here in the shadows. “Something like Derek?”

Danny shakes his head. “No, something… I can’t explain it, but it didn’t seem to care about me, because when I blinked again it was gone.”

Jackson puts his hands on Danny’s shoulders, yanks him in for a moment and claps his hand against his back. It lets him speak more quietly despite the rush of sound all around them. “If you’re worried, you go find Ethan. I’ll find out what’s lurking in the shadows.”

He pushes back, gripping Danny’s shoulders and turning him, shoving lightly to make Danny walk away. It’s funny how Jackson gets the feeling that no matter how little he likes Ethan, sending Danny after the killer werewolf might be safer than whatever’s lurking in the shadows.

He spots Stiles sitting back from a girl he’s just kissed, a dumbstruck expression on his face. Jackson snorts at the look Stilinski gives her, and at the way he suddenly darts away after, brings back a water bottle, then runs off.

Jackson pushes his way to the side of the loft, ignores the couple lying on the couch making out. He wants the shadowy corners, where the blacklights don’t reach, where the moonlight can’t penetrate. He thinks he catches a sense of fleeting motion, but when he rushes toward it, there’s nothing there.

“ _Get out!_ ”

The roar shudders through him, music coming to an abrupt halt with a screeching sound. Screams light up the air with a rush of terror scenting the space, and people run. For a moment, Jackson is frozen in place, body shivering, then the roar comes, echoing in the air around him, pushing at his body, and he starts to run.

He makes his way through the crowd, down the stairs and out the door. He doesn’t care that his feet are bare, he simply starts to run, the roar and words echoing in his head with every footfall: _get out get out get out_. He can’t stop until he’s far enough away that the sensation fades, and he crouches down, shivering next to a wall.

He should go back. He knows he should go back. His car his there, his best friend is there, his _pack_ is there.

But he can’t, he _can’t_. Get out. He has to get out and stay out and he cowers there, eyes closed, trying to get hold of a body that wants to be wolf and can’t make himself anything but a human who is inhumanly terrified.

#

He comes back to himself when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

_Where are you? Just got home. Lydia was freezing so I got her home and safe. She’s going to be okay._

Jackson shifts how he’s sitting, moves from a crouch to a seat with his back against the wall. He’s in an alley, he thinks, and he’s not sure how far he is from the loft. _I ran when Derek yelled_ , he admits, because it’s Danny and he’s safe. _He may not be my Alpha anymore, but I sure as shit reacted like he is._

He waits a moment, then adds, _What happened to Lydia?_

_She saw these things in masks and then she passed out. They marked her with something that looks like a backwards 5. I talked to Ethan. Happened to him and Aiden too._

Well, fuck. _That must be what we saw in the shadows_.

_You saw it too?_

Jackson inhales slowly, closes his eyes and leans his head on his hands. He just needs to breathe for a moment, regulate his heartbeat. _I think so. I saw something._

_There was a fight at the loft after I left with Lydia. I talked to Ethan after that._

So the party invading his loft wasn’t the worst thing that happened for Derek tonight.

Jackson doesn’t want to ask, but he’s a good friend and he gives a shit about how Danny feels. _Is Ethan all right? And should I stop by to check on Lydia?_

The second question is the one he wants to ask.

 _She just wanted to rest. And yes, Ethan’s fine. You should come home, Jackson. It’s almost dawn. You need sleep_.

Danny’s probably right. There’s a fog in his mind, a lingering darkness that makes him realize that he’s exhausted. But he’s also in the middle of nowhere in Beacon Hills, and his car is back at the loft. And Jackson likes this pair of jeans; he doesn’t want to shift into Kula and leave them behind.

_I’m going back to the loft to get my car. I’ll be home soon. You get some sleep, go to school, and I’ll see you after._

Besides, seeing Derek will give Jackson something to do.

It’s slow going, walking through town, trying to find his way back to Derek’s loft. Jackson makes a few wrong turns along the way, and his feet ache from walking barefoot on the concrete. By the time he arrives, the sun is peeking above the horizon with thick red ribbons of light.

Jackson stops at his car long enough to grabs a shirt and shoes, and to wipe the paint off his face. It looks ridiculous in the morning light, and that’s not the image he wants to present.

There’s litter throughout the building along the path to Derek’s loft; discarded red solo cups and water bottles in the corner of the elevator, and wrappers, streamers, paintbrushes, glow bracelets all dotted along the hall from the elevator to the door. Jackson grips the handle and tugs, half expecting it to be locked and surprised when it rolls easily open.

Derek looks up from the middle of the loft, a broom in his hand and a full black garbage bag off to one side. Derek holds his gaze a moment, raises one eyebrow, then turns deliberately away and returns to sweeping.

“How’s Lydia?”

Jackson steps inside, tugs the door closed behind him. “What makes you think I’m talking to Lydia?”

Derek snorts. “I smelled you in the loft.”

“Wait, how?” Jackson looks around at the litter still in some corners, the stack of unopened flats of water bottles that sits off to one side. The furniture is still rearranged, and to Jackson’s human nose, the place reeks of teenage stench. “I couldn’t separate out anything except Danny, and that was after I found him.”

“You’ll learn.” Derek crouches down, sweeps up the pile into a dust pan and dumps it into the bag. “I knew you were here, and I mentioned it to Cora. She helpfully explained that you’ve been living with Danny and stalking people as a wolf. And that Lydia knows you’re here.”

“Cora, Lydia, Danny, and now you.” There’s no point in trying to explain about Malia, and it’s not like Ethan actually knows who Jackson is. “And Danny said that Lydia is fine. Marked with some symbol by whatever showed up here last night.”

“Oni.” Derek says it like Jackson should already understand. “We think they were after Kira.”

“Lydia’s new friend. Haven’t met her.” Jackson moves to the edge of the room, quietly starts cleaning up. He feels ridiculous standing around and watching Derek work. “Why would they be after her?”

“They’re Japanese warrior spirits, and she’s a kitsune.” When Jackson stares blankly at him, Derek elaborates. “A trickster fox. She’s possessed by a spirit, and it’s possible it’s evil.”

That is… just too amusing. Jackson can’t help the slow smirk. “So McCall’s new best friend is evil?”

“Possibly,” Derek repeats. He moves to one end of the couch, and quirks an eyebrow, jerking his chin until Jackson grabs the other end. Together they leverage it back into the correct place in the loft. “So, Danny knows?”

“Danny knows.” Jackson hovers for a moment, and when Derek sits, Jackson takes the other end of the couch, facing him. “I needed someone I could trust when things went to hell at the end of the summer. I think McCall’s pack is shit for not telling Danny that he was dating a murderous werewolf.”

Derek’s gaze slides sideways, staring at a spot on the floor. “And now the twins are back.” His jaw is tight, and Jackson has no idea what’s going on inside his head. “We may be predators, Jackson, but we don’t have to be monsters. Not as long as we are in control of ourselves.”

There’s a soft silence before Derek turns back to look at Jackson. “How are the moons?”

He has to smirk at that. “I’m in touch with my inner wolf, Derek. It helps.”

He can’t read the expression on Derek’s face, but there’s sadness in in the way his mouth quirks without humor. “Show me,” Derek says, and Jackson figures this is one thing he can do.

He stands up and strips quickly before he lets the wolf come over him, inhaling the fumes of the loft as soon as his nose changes. It’s worse this way, the lingering after-effects of the party, and he sneezes twice.

Derek just stares at him, eyes wide and mouth pressed tight.

Jackson pads over to him, presses his nose into Derek’s hand, licks at his fingers. Derek jerks back, then reaches out again, tangles both hands in Jackson’s ruff and scritches him behind the ears. Derek’s eyes close, and Jackson smells salt, thinks that Derek might be holding back tears but he can’t figure out why.

“It’s a rare talent,” Derek says quietly. “I thought that someday I might be able to—but then….” His voice trails off and his eyes flash bright blue. It’s strange seeing him like that, the alpha stripped away. “I didn’t think I deserved it. Figured I wasn’t pure enough. But you….”

Jackson pushes back, lets humanity come back to him. He speaks while still crouched there. “But I’m an evil ex-lizard who killed people, and since I can do it, maybe you can, too?” He finishes Derek’s thought, and Derek just nods.

“Maybe we can teach each other a few things,” Derek suggests. “There are still things you don’t know about being a werewolf, and I don’t know how to do that. We can learn from each other.”

“I don’t know if I can teach it.” His last time trying didn’t work out.

“The only way we’ll find out is trying,” Derek counters. “When things calm down. When we have time.”

There’s nothing that Jackson has to lose by this, so he nods once, short and sharp. “When we have time, sure.”

He gets dressed, intending to help clean the rest of his loft, but Derek urges him out the door instead, pointing out that he’s still a teenager, and still expected in a home. Jackson promises to come back, and promises to keep in touch.

As he’s leaving, his phone buzzes, and he glances at it quickly.

 _Take care of my brother. He’s not an Alpha anymore, and he’s vulnerable, and he will still try to take care of everyone_.

Jackson smiles ruefully because he has a feeling that despite everything, Derek’s going to become pack. It’s not that Jackson’s joining Derek’s pack; it’s that they’ll take care of each other somehow. Like brothers.

 _I will_ , he promises Cora.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Rainy weekend here, but peaceful and nice. Hope you enjoyed the chapter (plot! Derek! whee!). If you want to chat, catch up with me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com), and I will see you back here next week.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES: There is a panic attack in this chapter. Also a nightmare, and fear of drowning. Details in the end notes if you need them before reading.

Jackson’s tired of the nightmares. Tired of the way they drag at his mind, pulling him under until he’s drowning, struggling for breath, unable to see the surface and break through. He flails out while barely awake, registering that he’s human again, feels Danny’s arm go around him and pull him close.

There are footsteps in the hall, and Danny’s door creaks open; Jackson’s breath shudders in his chest. “Nightmare,” he manages to croak out. “I’m okay. I’m sorry.”

The door nudges open a little further, and he sees Mrs. Mahealani in the shadows, backlit by the night-light in the hall. “I heard you call out, and I was worried.”

“I didn’t mean to disturb you.” The words come a little easier now, no longer fuzzed by the remains of the dream. Jackson is aware of Danny’s arm around him, the way he presses back against Danny’s front, their hips fit comfortably together. He knows she can’t see the details, but it doesn’t stop his discomfort and worry that she’s going to make him leave.

“Are they getting worse?” She hesitates, adds softly, “It’s the first time I’ve heard you scream.”

“They’re about the same. Just… sometimes I don’t know where I am when I wake up.” Jackson licks his lips, goes all in with a rueful laugh. “It really is easier when Danny’s here. He sleeps like a rock, and I don’t disturb him, but just knowing he’s there is like having an anchor to help keep me from losing myself in the dreams.”

Maybe it’s easy to say because it’s dark. Because she can’t see his expression, because she’s standing by the door and not coming in to comfort him. There’s a sleepy detachment, and he hopes that she doesn’t remember it in the morning, or only remembers the sense that it’s okay for Jackson to stay in Danny’s bed.

“Maybe you should talk to someone,” she says, and Jackson catches the scent of concern in the air. “There has to be someone who—” She cuts off abruptly, and Jackson isn’t sure what the new scent is, but decides to label it uncertainty.

“I doubt there are many shrinks who have dabbled in the supernatural,” Jackson says dryly. “I’m okay. I’ll talk to Deaton if it gets too bad, or I’ll go see Nurse McCall. But I’m okay, I promise. I’d say the same thing if you were my mom.” It’s not a dig, he’s just being honest. The Mahaelanis have been like spare parents since he was small.

“If you decide you want to see someone, let me know.” She takes a step back, lingers for a moment. “Get some sleep, Jackson.”

Danny makes a small noise as the door closes again, squeezes Jackson’s waist, presses his mouth to Jackson’s shoulder. Jackson closes his eyes, tries to relax back into the hold, breathing as evenly as he can and focusing on the feel of Danny behind him and the bed beneath him.

When Jackson opens his eyes again, the room is lit by the sun spilling in around the curtains, and Danny’s head is buried in the crook of Jackson’s neck. Jackson has Danny’s hand clasped in his, their fingers tangled as Jackson holds it pressed to his chest, just over the _thump thump_ of his heart. Danny’s breath is slow and even, shifting tempo as he comes awake, hips moving while he stretches.

Jackson is hard as a fucking rock, leaking slightly, and thankful that Danny can’t smell things like a werewolf can.

Danny mumbles something indistinct, the words trapped against Jackson’s skin. It makes him shiver, the contact going straight to his dick.

“Got something to say?” Jackson’s voice is too loud in the quiet of the room, and he tries not to wince at how it sounds.

Danny’s hips stop their slow motion, body going still behind Jackson. He flexes his fingers, and Jackson lets go. He could pull away, but he lets Danny put space between them, shifting his hips backwards, tugging on the blankets. “You had a bad night?”

Because he wants this to be the first topic of conversation this morning, sure. “Yeah. Screamed. I woke your mother up.” Jackson tries to keep his breath even. “She thinks I should talk to someone.”

“You could talk to the pysch I went to,” Danny offers.

Jackson remembers that, when Danny had counseling before his surgery. When he saw someone because he was terrified that someday he wouldn’t be able to breathe at all, and everything would just _stop_. Jackson shakes his head. “She’d be great for the fear of death part, but not very helpful when it comes to having been possessed,” he says dryly, and he’s not surprised when Danny doesn’t have a comeback for that.

He rolls over on his back, keeps the blankets scrunched up at his waist to hide the slowly wilting erection. Danny sits up, one hand on the bed as he leans over Jackson, looking at him. “I’m not going to kick you out of bed,” Danny says. “If it helps, just sleep here. Mom won’t argue if she realizes that it’s helping you.”

“We don’t have any proof I’d be worse if I slept alone.” Because Jackson refuses to walk down the hall, refuses to take over the guest room properly. “Don’t you think Ethan’s going to get pissed off about you having me in bed with you?”

“Is there a reason he should?” Danny stays there, gaze fixed on him, and Jackson has no idea what answer he’s looking for.

“I don’t think there’s a reason for him to be in your room, let alone your bed,” Jackson tells him. He keeps his voice even, does his best not to sound angry at Ethan. He can handle his best friend’s relationship, even if he still thinks Ethan is a dick. He puts one hand against Danny’s chest, shoves lightly. “Go shower. I’ll put on clothes.”

Danny’s gaze drops for a moment, then he pulls away, rolls out of bed and to his feet. He grabs fresh underwear and a pair of sweats. “I’ll be back in five.”

Jackson grabs sweats for himself, yanks them on and tucks himself down. He could take care of things in the few minutes Danny’s gone, but he doesn’t want to risk being caught with his dick in his hand if Danny comes back. He’s not desperate, just uncomfortable.

His phone lights up, a series of texts across the screen: _call me. Call me. Call me. Call me, dickhead. Wake up and call me._ Because Cora has no patience whatsoever.

He thumbs the phone unlocked, presses on her name to start dialing and sets it on speaker. “Hey, Cora. Sleep is a thing we do here, especially after late nights.”

“I heard about the rave.”

“Blacklight party,” he corrects her. “And a fight with some Japanese things.”

“Derek told me.” There are voices in the background, and Jackson can’t understand a word of it even though he can almost hear them clearly. Cora’s voice is muffled by her hand as she yells back at them. “Sorry,” her voice comes through clearly again. “It’s never quiet here.”

“You sound happy with it.” He lies back down on the bed, one knee bent and falling to the side. He hears the shower cut out. “Danny’s going to be back in a minute. I’ve got you on speaker.”

“Oh good, I want to meet him.”

Jackson has a few seconds to realize how terrible an idea this is before Danny walks in, still damp and toweling his hair dry. Jackson can’t find words, choking on the idea that he has Cora on speaker where Danny can hear, and that Danny’s about to get an earful of something that Jackson might not want him to hear.

Worst part is, Jackson can’t predict what she’s going to say—it’s not like Jackson’s told her anything Danny doesn’t know. She just… she seems to have her own interpretations of things.

“Jackson?” Her voice spills out of the speaker. “Did you fall asleep over there?”

Danny’s brow furrows, and Jackson says, “Sorry, Cora, got distracted. Danny’s back, so say hi.”

They exchange pleasantries, and when Danny tells Jackson to go take a shower, and he refuses, Cora cackles loudly. “What do you think we’re going to do if you leave us alone together?”

“I have no idea, but I’m sure it’s something.” Jackson’s dead honest, and she laughs again. “Let’s talk about the Oni instead.”

They go over the same details, pooling the information they have from different resources. Neither Danny nor Jackson saw them clearly, but Cora got a detailed description from Derek, and Danny talked to Ethan. “Stiles left before the attack,” Jackson volunteers. “I didn’t see McCall, and I haven’t met Kira yet.”

“She’s cute.” Danny shrugs one shoulder.

“And potentially evil.” They fall down another rabbit hole of discussions, Cora offering ideas from Japanese mythology, and Danny making notes to look up later.

Cora finally takes a breath, letting it slip into a long enough pause that Danny looks up from his notepad. “What?”

“Is Jackson sleeping?” she asks, and Jackson makes a face.

“Don’t team up against me,” he says.

“Not well,” Danny replies. “He doesn’t have nightmares every night, but it’s about half the time.”

“Does he talk about them?”

“Cora.” Jackson doesn’t yell, just grabs the phone, switches it off of speaker and holds it to his ear. “Don’t gang up on me. The nightmares are my problem. Natural side effect, remember? You said you had them for years.”

“You also said you were going to do something about them.” Her voice is loud enough that Danny tilts toward Jackson, and Jackson has a feeling he can hear her fairly well. “Been swimming yet?”

“Not recently.” His voice is tight. “Haven’t really had the chance. It’s not good swimming weather.”

“You think that’ll help him?” Danny’s pressed close enough that Jackson can feel the vibration of his voice when he speaks. “I’ll get him in a pool.”

“It’s worth a try,” Cora says, and Jackson pulls the phone away from his ear. There’s no point in trying to keep them apart, so he touches the icon to put it back on speaker. “He’s just a dumbass who doesn’t like to take advice or look too hard at his own psychology.”

“I’m not going to argue with that.” Danny’s fingers lightly touch the collar at the back of Jackson’s neck, and Jackson lets go of tension he didn’t realize he was holding. “We need to check in on Lydia, but maybe we’ll go over to the pool after.”

“Say hello for me,” Cora tells them.

“Text her yourself,” Jackson says. “Don’t flirt through me.”

Cora makes an indignant noise, and Danny snorts loud enough for her to hear. It doesn’t take long to finish the conversation after that, although Danny and Cora exchange numbers before they let Jackson cut the connection. Danny’s phone chimes with a text shortly after, and he responds quickly before adding Cora to his contacts.

“Don’t talk about me,” Jackson mutters.

“We have better things to talk about than you.” Danny nudges him. “Go shower, get dressed in something decent. We’re going to check on Lydia.”

“And Malia.” It’s a snap decision, but if Danny’s determined to get involved with the women in Jackson’s life, Malia should probably be included. “I want to check on her, make sure she hasn’t been attacked by these Oni. If they’re going after Kira, she should be fine, but with Lydia….”

“It makes sense,” Danny agrees. “Fine, go get your ass ready. We’ll go.”

#

“What’s this about swimming?” Lydia pulls the door open, nods for them to come inside quickly. Jackson doesn’t want to linger on her doorstep any more than she wants him to, so he hurries in before he pushes back his hood.

“Did Cora text you?” Because of course she did. Jackson sighs. “I’m dreaming about drowning. Cora thinks I should get back in the water. And how are you doing today?”

“Better.” Lydia raises her fingers to touch behind her ear. When Jackson raises an eyebrow, she lifts her hair and both Jackson and Danny move in closer to see the mark. It definitely looks like a backwards 5 to Jackson, and he has no idea what it could mean. She lets her hair fall to cover it up, and turns back to face them both, arms crossed and head tilted to look up.

There’s something about Lydia that always makes her seem so much bigger than her tiny build. “So,” she says. “Swimming?”

“We’re going after we leave here,” Danny assures her. “We just need to make a stop first and check on someone else.” Jackson gives him a look, and Danny shrugs. “She’s going to drag it out of you anyway.”

Lydia arches one eyebrow. “You know I am.”

Jackson grumbles, because it’s true. “I promised not to talk about her, and she promised not to talk about me.”

“Considering that I already know about you, you’re not going to lose any ground if whoever it is decides to tell me about you,” Lydia points out. She tangles her fingers with his, pulls him to the sofa and nudges him down. She brackets him on one side, Danny budged up against his hip on the other. “So, talk.”

“Derek thinks that the Oni came for Kira, after they marked you, Ethan, and Aiden,” Jackson explains. “They didn’t go after me, and I don’t know why, and they didn’t go after Danny. I want to make sure they didn’t go after Malia.”

“Tate?” Lydia blinks and Jackson feels a ripple of pleasure that he’s surprised her. “The girl who was a…” her voice slows down, and she turns her full attention on Jackson. “Who was a coyote. You ran with her in the woods.”

“She’s pack,” he says simply. “I knew she was something because of her eyes, but who she was didn’t matter to me. She took me in and we shared a den, so we’re pack. I’ve been visiting her, trying to help her settle in. It’s not easy when you haven’t been human for eight years. A lot has changed.” He thinks of the last text he received from her that said simply _animal planet_ , and he smiles inwardly. “I get what she’s been through, even though I didn’t go through it for as long. So I want to make sure she’s okay.”

“Fine, we’ll go.”

That wasn’t what Jackson had in mind. “I’m pretty sure that if you show up with me, Malia’s going to stop speaking to me entirely. And while her texts aren’t the most interesting I get in a day, I’m working with her. I don’t want to scare her off.”

Lydia crosses her arms. “But you were going to take Danny.”

“Everybody likes Danny.”

“Does she know we’re coming?” Lydia looks at him, chin tilted slightly up. “You should probably text her, warn her that you’re bringing guests.”

“Oh, she’s already angry at me since I can’t teach her how to become a coyote again,” Jackson grumbles. “Not for lack of trying.” When he realizes that Lydia is still looking at him, he spreads his hands. “McCall may have thought he was doing a good thing, but she was happy that way, and now she blames me in part for them finding her. All she wants to do is go back to the way things were.”

Lydia cocks her head, brows furrowed as she regards him. He resists the urge to shrink back from her perusal, relieved that at least Danny’s weight is solid against his side. “You care for her,” she says slowly. “You honestly care for her. Not because you’re fucking her, but because she’s important as a person.”

“She’s _pack_ , and no, I wouldn’t even dream of sex with her.” Jackson shudders. “That would be like sleeping with a sister.”

Lydia opens her mouth, then snaps it closed abruptly, blinking. There’s a swift rush of something in the air—satisfaction, maybe, that pleased little scent of having figured something out.

“What?” Jackson prods.

“We’ll leave Malia alone for now. Text her. Make sure she’s okay.” Lydia points at his still empty hands. “Get out your phone, Jackson.”

Danny knocks his shoulder into Jackson’s other side. “We’ll go see Malia later if she needs us,” he says quietly. “But Lydia’s right. We should probably avoid all going there at once, since she’s not happy with Scott’s pack to begin with. Lydia spends enough time with Scott that she smells like him, right?”

Jackson leans just a bit closer to Lydia, enough to inhale and catch faint traces of all of the pack surrounding her, along with one scent that he doesn’t recognize. He files that away as probably Kira, and nods. “Fine. We’ll go to the school and you can both watch me get in the water. It’s not as big a deal as you think.”

Which is a lie, of course, but they can’t hear the rapid trip of his heart, or smell the anxiety that’s rising under his skin. As long as he stays calm, they’ll never know.

#

Jackson stands at the edge of the pool. He’s changed into a pair of black jammers that he took out of storage a while back, so he’s ready for the pool.

He’s ready to get in the water.

All he needs to do is step to the edge and jump in.

“I could throw you in, if it would help.” There’s a teasing note in Danny’s voice, and while Jackson knows he’d never do it, it still pricks under his skin.

Jackson flashes his eyes, growling as he feels his teeth sharpen in anger. Danny just crosses his arms and walks by him, lowers himself to sit on the side of the pool, trunks wet as soon as he lands in a puddle.

Lydia’s the only one not dressed to swim; her feet bare but otherwise still wearing the same dress as when they arrived. She grabs one of the coach’s chairs and drags it over, checking to make sure it’s dry before she perches on the edge. “It’s okay to be afraid,” she says quietly. “Fears are a normal part of human nature.”

“Not for me,” Jackson growls. He fights with his wolf, forces it back, clenching his teeth until he feels them blunt back to normal. He breathes in, lets it out slowly. “I’m the captain of the fucking swim team.”

“You don’t go to this school.” Danny kicks his feet in the water, a splash of droplets almost reaching Jackson. “You could come back and be the swim captain again if you wanted.”

He could.

He could jump in, probably beat his old record in the fly with his new werewolf strength.

He could be faster, better, absolutely fearless.

All he has to do is get in.

“Sit down, Jackson.” Lydia’s voice is soft and even. “Start with sitting at the edge. Get your feet in the water.”

“Stop treating me like I’m five,” Jackson snaps. Warmth floods his cheeks because he doesn’t meant to be angry at her, but it has to go somewhere. It’s roiling in his gut, anger wrapped around the bitter taste of fear that he can’t get rid of.

Danny kicks again, and Jackson sees the waves gently roll across the surface of the pool.

He thinks about going under, seeing the light fade as water ripples and he sinks, sinks, sinks….

Jackson sits down heavily, one foot sliding as it goes out from under him on the slick stone. He ends up sitting sideways, one leg in the water, the other curled under him, and his body stretched away from the pool, claws out and digging into the stone. His heart hammers in his chest, his breath too loud to his ears.

It takes him a long moment to realize that the sound he hears is voices—Danny and Lydia both calling his name. Danny still sits, not even a foot away, leaning towards Jackson with his fingers pressed against the nape of Jackson’s neck. Lydia crouches next to him, her painted toenails in front of his face. If he turned his head just the right way, he’d see right up her skirt.

It’s funny how he doesn’t actually care about that.

She touches his head, her fingers lightly stroking along his cheek. “Are you okay?”

“That looked like a panic attack,” Danny says, anchoring him from behind with that one touch along the line of his collar.

“Yeah.” Jackson can’t say for sure, because he thinks he’s missing time, but it’s probably the best explanation. He pushes himself to sitting, almost pulls back when he dips his second foot in the water. He freezes, manages to slowly lower his foot until both legs swing over the edge of the pool.

It’s no different from a bath.

It’s easy.

It has to be easy.

Lydia frowns at the stone, then carefully lowers herself onto a mostly dry patch, her skirt puddled around her. “If it’s any consolation, I have no urge to scream. If you go in, I’m pretty sure you won’t drown, because if you’re going to die, I’ll know before you do.”

His lips press thinly together as he glares at her. “No. It doesn’t help.”

Her fingers curl around his, and she squeezes rather than saying anything.

Danny slips closer, until he is pressed against Jackson, shoulder to hip to knee. “We’re not going to let you drown, Jackson. The water’s only four feet deep at this end. We’re right here.”

That doesn’t help either. It just reminds him that he’s weak, that he became a _thing_ that’s destroyed something he was good at. Great at. Something he loved to do. Swimming was even better than lacrosse in some ways because he could compete against himself, getting better inch by inch, moment by moment. He could prove himself, and he could beat everyone else. He was the best.

And now he can’t even get in the fucking water.

Tears prick at his eyes and he shakes his head, growls as he tries to force it back. The anger is rising under his skin, and even Lydia’s hand in his, and Danny’s fingers on his back, aren’t enough to keep him centered. He can’t let the kanima win. He can’t let the beast win.

He’s going to do this.

He’s going to take this part of himself back.

He plants his hands on the stone edge of the pool, curls his fingers around it and shoves himself forward. He slides off the edge, the stone scraping against the backs of his knees, then he’s falling into the water.

It sucks him under, wraps around him and pulls, dragging him into the thick, wet, darkness. He can’t find his feet, sliding over slick surface, arms windmilling as he loses his balance. He can’t feel anything around him other than water as he falls back and it closes over his head.

The change rushes over him and four feet touch the bottom of the pool before he pushes off, haunches bunching into a strong leap that pushes him out of the water and onto the edge, eyes lit as he growls furiously. He shakes himself to get the water off, stands with feet splayed, snarling at the enemy that he can’t attack.

He hears Lydia’s heartbeat, the swift patter as she takes several steps back, one hand up and out in front of her as if to hold him back. Danny is next to him, arms around his ruff, holding on with fingers under his collar, pulling it taut. Jackson struggles for even breaths, and as soon as he can, convinces his body to go back to human, leaving him naked and wet and cold on the stone, still propped up in Danny’s arms.

There’s a soft laugh. “His suit is in the pool,” Lydia says, and it’s just so bizarre that it startles a laugh out of Jackson as well.

“I shifted right out of my suit. Impressive,” he says dryly.

Danny sits back slowly, hands sliding down to Jackson’s shoulders, attention fixed on his face. An almost smile quirks his lips as he says, “I’ll get your suit so we can preserve Lydia’s delicate sensibilities.”

“Oh God, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before, right up close and personal.” She rolls her eyes, crosses her arms and cocks her head. “Jackson, grab your towel and go back to the locker room. Danny and I will clean up here and meet you once you’re dressed.”

The water is still there, and he’s still on the side, failing to get in.

“I should try again.”

“Another day.” Danny tugs at the back of the collar. “She’s right. Go dry off and meet us at the car. It feels like it’s been a long day already. I think it’s time to go home.”

“We could stop off and pick up _The Notebook_ on the way,” Lydia says idly, and it warms Jackson’s heart when he sees the way she smiles at him as she says it.

“Anything but _The Notebook_ ,” he says. Danny and Lydia laugh as he pushes to his feet, grabs his towel and walks away. It lets him pretend that everything’s going to be okay.

The water will be there another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES: Jackson has a nightmare about drowning, and while attempting to get in the pool has a panic attack, followed by another fear of drowning attack and more panic. It's all pretty quick, but this chapter is definitely about that fear, so skip if you need to.
> 
> Hey all, and happy Sunday! I'm sorry I've been so slow about replying to comments lately. It seems like I have very little time at the computer, and when I'm there, I'm trying to get words on the page and not fall further behind (I'm very behind). I hope you all have had a lovely weekend, and that you enjoy the chapter, and I will see you again for the next chapter on Sunday, July 24. Until then, come visit me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com).


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Please be aware we have sleep deprived Jackson in this chapter, plus plot from 3b. There are multiple panic attacks.

It’s easy to forget for a little while, lying on the couch with Lydia’s feet across his lap, and his head leaning against Danny’s shoulder. Danny’s arm is a warm weight across the back of the couch, and Jackson leans into that touch, taking the contact that they both offer while the movie plays in the background. Lydia had brought out a pile of DVDs from her mother’s room—classics of the romance genre, in her words—and had finally decided on _Mystic Pizza_.

It hasn’t really engaged Jackson’s interest, although Danny and Lydia are talking over his head about it, but at least it’s not _The Notebook_.

Jackson’s eyes feel heavy and thick, and he blinks several times before he lets them close. The ache fades as soon as he shuts out the room around him, but it isn’t completely dark. The red on the back of the lids from the light bothers him, reminds him of what it looks like when you’re deep underwater, staring up at the sun.

It’s not a thought conducive to relaxation.

He feels the shivering start, takes in a slow breath, knows he needs to get it under control before either Danny or Lydia notices. He’s so tired, he can’t open his eyes, but he can’t stop thinking about water now that he’s started. How it feels against his skin, the way it sucks at him, pulls at him, drags him under the surface until he can’t hold his breath any longer.

He feels it slip inside his lungs, and he coughs, unable to catch his breath.

He has to get out.

He flails out with his arms, hears Lydia yelp as his eyes fly open, and the water’s gone.

Danny catches him, tugs him back against his chest, holding on tight while Lydia pulls her feet free of his lap. She rubs her cheek, gives him a wary look, while Danny slowly slides one hand up his arm to his shoulder.

“You fell asleep,” Danny says, while Julia Roberts yells at someone on the TV screen.

Jackson can’t look away from Lydia, the faint red mark on her cheek standing out brightly against her pale skin. “I’m sorry,” he says. “The back of my eyelids—it looked like the sun, from underwater. I don’t even remember… I didn’t know I fell asleep. I just….” He can’t find the words for it, can’t wrap his head around anything that makes sense right now.

He’s just so damned tired.

“I’m okay.” Lydia tangles her fingers together in her lap, as if to hold her hand away from her face. “You barely touched me; it just startled me. The mark will be gone by the time I wake up tomorrow.”

“You need to get a good night’s sleep.” Danny releases Jackson slowly, his tone firm. “Without the nightmares. You aren’t getting any actual rest.”

Lydia’s lips purse together thinly.

“It’s not like I can take a sleeping pill,” Jackson says dryly. “It won’t affect me. That’s the whole point of healing—I don’t need medication.” And the idea of him taking something from Deaton doesn’t feel like a good idea. “I just need to sleep when I sleep, and if I have a nightmare, I’m sorry.”

“Maybe Melissa could help? Nurse McCall,” Lydia says softly. “She knows about Scott. She knows about all of it; so does the Sheriff now. But maybe she knows something that’s made for a human, but could put down a werewolf, at least for a few hours. Just enough time to let your brain rest. I know you heal, Jackson, but the body is made to need rest in order to heal the mind. I doubt your werewolf healing is going to fix that part of you.”

“Thanks for your confidence in my mental health.”

“I’ve been there.”

It’s her quick, sharp words that change his mind. She has been there. She’s been through missing time, and thinking she was insane, and finding bodies without knowing why. She’s had her share of nightmares. “Would you trust her?”

“Completely,” Lydia says firmly. “And if you ask her not to tell anyone that you’re here, she won’t. She’s good.”

Jackson’s not sure that he believes that. What mother would keep a secret from her own son? Oh right, the kind who adopts him, then doesn’t say a word until it comes up in class and he starts asking questions and finds out he’s been lied to all along.

But that wasn’t Melissa McCall.

Danny pulls Jackson along with him when he stands up. “You’re already half-asleep while walking, so you don’t get a say in this,” Danny tells him. “If she can help you sleep without nightmares, you’ll be better than you are now. And if she can’t? Then we’ve just wasted a few hours and it’s not going to make things any worse.”

Jackson can’t really argue the point. And the way his brain feels, he can’t really think, either.

He lets Danny wrangle him into the passenger seat of his own beat-up car, and he leans his head against the window while Danny and Lydia talk at the door to the house. He could listen, maybe, if he really tried, but that’s too much work and he’s not sure language is completely making sense at the moment. Let them have their little private conversation. It’s not like they’re plotting against him.

He’s pretty sure they’re not plotting against him.

Danny slides into the driver’s seat, waits until Jackson realizes that he needs the keys and hands them over.

“Sleep will help,” Danny tells him, and Jackson really wants to believe that.

#

Jackson sits on an examination table with his hood drawn up and forward to hide his face, just in case someone other than Danny and Nurse McCall walks in. He’s hunched forward, more awake now that he’s surrounded by the clinical scents of the hospital. The soap always smells a little like orange and vanilla, and the hand sanitizer is straight-out antiseptic that burns his nose. He can smell traces of bleach that linger from cleaning the linoleum floor, and the sheets smell freshly laundered. He lets his feet swing a little, listening to the low screech of the bed’s wheels against the floor, moving just slightly while locked in place for the exam room.

The curtain swings open with a rush of Danny’s scent, and Nurse McCall is with him. Danny manages to get the curtain shut as Jackson looks up, his hood still obscuring his face.

“You promise that you won’t tell anyone about this,” Danny says quietly.

“Even if it’s one of the twins.” She looks at Danny, and it’s such a _mom_ look that Jackson almost snickers. “You are dating one of them, yes?”

“Not exactly, and that’s not what it is.” Danny gestures, and Jackson tugs the hood down, stares at Nurse McCall who stares right back. Her expression is open and assessing, her nod quick.

“Well, I see. So you’re the wolfy business. I didn’t know you were in town.” She sets the bin she carries on the table next to Jackson, extracts a thermometer and puts a sterile cover on it before offering it to put under Jackson’s tongue.

He’d say _no one does_ , except he can’t talk now that she’s shoved something in his mouth, so he just raises an eyebrow.

“I’m not going to say a word.” There’s disapproval in her tone, in the way her brows knit together and her lips purse. “But I’m glad someone told you to see me if you need help.” She takes the thermometer out, throws away the covering as she checks the temperature. “You’re running hot, but that’s natural if my son is anything to go by. As far as I know, you don’t get ill. So what brings you here instead of to Dr. Deaton?”

“Nurse McCall—”

She cuts him off with a wave of her hand. “Call me Melissa. Everyone else does.”

“I can’t sleep. And I don’t want to take a tranquilizer from the vet. I’m not a dog,” Jackson tells her.

“No, you’re not. You’re a teenage boy.” Melissa reaches for the blood pressure cuff, motions for him to shrug out of one side of his hoodie. She wraps it around his upper arm, holds up one finger for silence as she listens through her stethoscope to check his pressure. As soon as she finishes, she starts talking. “And you’re hardly the first sleep-troubled teen I’ve seen this month. Or even today. The problem is, I’m not sure if we have anything strong enough to put a werewolf out, even for a few hours. Alan might be the better choice for this one, I’m afraid.”

She unwraps the cuff, jots down a number before she hangs it up. “You’re here off the books, don’t worry. Danny explained that this was something I needed to see you for in particular. The way I see it, we have two choices. I can try to find you something strong enough that a single shot or pill will knock you out, or we can set up an IV and hydrate you and feed you a continuous drip while you sleep here.”

A shudder ripples through him. He leans forward, grips the edge of the bed, head bowed. Danny’s hand falls against the nape of his neck, and Jackson presses into it, needing that touch. He forces himself to raise his gaze and look at her directly. “I don’t want to sleep here. I don’t care if Danny has to wheel me to the car and pour me into it, I want to go home to sleep.” There’s a gentle squeeze from Danny when Jackson says _home_.

“I understand.” She places her hands against the sides of his face, tilts his head so that he’s looking up toward the light in the center of the ceiling. “Blink,” she says, and he does. Her thumbs are a light touch, almost comforting for all that he’s certain she’s evaluating him. “And we can make sure you get home. No IV then. I’ll find another option.”

It’s funny how when she says it, he believes her, even though he doubts she has any idea what would keep a werewolf down. But she’s a mother, and he knows he can trust her not to hurt him.

Maybe it’ll be okay. Maybe he can get just a little bit of quiet, dreamless sleep, and it’ll be okay.

“Just wait here.” Melissa points at the bed as she stands at the edge of the curtain. “Lie down and try to relax. I know you might not feel like you can, but it would help.”

She leaves, and Danny shifts off the bed, giving Jackson room to swing his feet up and stretch out before Danny sits down again. Danny’s hand is on his shoulder, and the weight feels good, giving Jackson something to focus on when he closes his eyes.

The lights are shining on him, turning the inside of his eyelids red again.

He opens his eyes, blinks as he turns his head away from Danny. “Do you think it’ll work?”

“I think she’s going to do her best,” Danny decides. “And I think you need the sleep, so it’s worth trying. Any idea why the nightmares are getting worse?”

It’s not that they’re worse. They’re still the same dreams of drowning, being dragged under the water, that they always have been. And maybe there’s less blood, less images of him killing people, remembering the way that the blood smelled as it dripped over his fingers. “They’re happening more often, not worse,” Jackson says quietly. “Maybe because I’m spending more time human.”

“You start out each night as Kula.”

Draped across the foot of Danny’s bed, yes, or sometimes stretched out alongside Danny, while being used as a pillow. But he never stays that way. “I’m also talking to people. More people know. I can’t just—I can’t just walk out, leave, be a wolf. There’s you and your parents, and Cora, Lydia, Malia… now Melissa.” Jackson makes a face. “Every time I tell someone new, I have to be more human and less wolf.”

“You have to get a little closer to being the person who turned into an evil lizard,” Danny says, and Jackson answers by pulling the pillow over his head.

Because yes. That.

Jackson lies there and tries not to count the moments while Melissa is gone. Danny rubs his shoulder, but it’s not enough of a distraction. It’s soothing enough that Jackson keeps the pillow over his head to block the light and closes his eyes, tries to let himself drift. He has a feeling that he almost falls asleep, snapping back to wakefulness when Danny shifts and the entire bed moves.

After the third time, Jackson whines his irritation, and Danny snorts. “You sound like Kula when you whine.”

“Stop wiggling and I won’t whine.” Jackson rolls over on his back, crosses his arms and glares at Danny.

“This bed isn’t exactly comfortable, and we’ve been waiting a while. She hasn’t come back yet.” Danny’s looking at the curtain, a faint frown creasing his forehead. “Do you want me to go take a look for her?”

Jackson doesn’t think it’s going to do any good. “Whatever, fine, go look for her. I’ll stay here in case she comes back.”

“Hey.” Danny slides off the bed, pauses with his finger tight on Jackson’s shoulder. “She’s going to find something, and we’ll head home and you’ll sleep twelve hours and things will be better. You know that insomnia makes insomnia worse, right?”

Sleep-deprivation induced anxiety. Yes, Jackson has read about it. But he’s not sure that one good night’s sleep is going to be a magic fix to this problem. “Yeah, I know. I’ll be fine once I sleep.” No one can hear if his heart bumps from the lie.

He watches Danny leave, and he tries to close his eyes and doze again but the room is too bright, and he’s too aware of the movement outside of his exam room. He keeps wondering if someone is going to walk in, see him, recognize him. He feels trapped here, risking exposure for something that might not even help.

Jackson rolls over onto his side and pulls his phone out, checking the time before he sends a text to his mother. She might not see it until tomorrow, but that’s fine, he just figures she ought to know. _I’ve been having trouble sleeping, I don’t know if Danny’s mom told you. But I’m getting help. I’m taking care of myself, I promise_.

There’s no response, but he keeps his fingers curled around his phone so he can feel it vibrate, just in case she texts back.

He tries to entertain himself listening to voices, overhearing conversations about patients that aren’t interesting at all. He doesn’t want to know about the girl throwing up in exam three, or the elderly gentleman who might be on the edge of his final moments in heart failure in exam five. He doesn’t care about the nurses who are trying to decide what to do after work—drinks or a club—or the doctors who are arguing over the best treatment for the patient in exam six. He can’t turn on the TV, not and avoid everyone else. All he can do is lie here and be bored out of his mind, let the sounds merge into a steady stream of noise that exists in the near-darkness behind his eyelids.

Jackson blinks his eyes open when he hears an odd noise, swings his feet over the edge so he can sit. He doesn’t know what it is—doesn’t even know what to think it is—but he feels like he should check it out. Like there’s something he needs to do _right now_. Danny’s not back yet, and Melissa’s who knows where. He’s not sleeping.

He might as well try to figure it out.

He pulls his hood up, lets it fall to where it almost covers his face, then he pushes the curtain aside slowly. The bustle continues around the central desk: nurses leaning in, doctors checking charts. No one seems to notice him as he slips down the hallway, heading in what he is absolutely positive is the right direction. Wherever that might lead.

Jackson catches a whiff of scent on the air and turns in that direction without thinking, following it into the darkness. No one’s using this space, the room dark as he starts to nudge open the door and spots Stiles standing there, his back to the door. The scent flows off of him, exhausted and uncertain, and something that Jackson can’t identify. Something rank and out of place.

He’s about to say something, make a joke about sleep-deprived teens in the hospital, when he sees the Oni. At least, he assumes it’s an Oni. It looks similar to the pictures Danny found online, and it’s dark and in the shadows. But it’s not looking at him at all.

It’s looking at Stiles.

Jackson knows he should say something, should do something to keep it from attacking Stiles, but he’s frozen there, stuck in the shadows. He forces his mouth open, tries to fight the words, and he realizes there isn’t only one Oni—there are three.

They weren’t there just a moment ago, he’s sure of it, and he wonders if he’s dreaming again. He doesn’t feel like he’s asleep, but he doesn’t entirely feel awake either.

One of the Oni reaches for Stiles, and Stiles snaps a hand out, grabs the Oni’s arm and grips it tight. Jackson can’t move, stares as Stiles bends the one arm away, uses his other hand to shove inside the Oni’s chest. He brings it back out, fist opening to show something glowing as the Oni flickers out of existence.

He must be dreaming. Jackson knows that can’t be real.

He takes several steps back, emerges into a bright hallway that leaves him blinking in the light, scrubbing a hand across his eyes. He wavers, swaying as he tries to regain his equilibrium, figure out how he got back to the place just outside his exam room.

“Hey.” A hand grips his upper arm, tugs him back into the exam room. Jackson pushes his hood back as Danny has a hand on both his shoulders, staring down at him. “You okay?” Danny asks.

Jackson shakes his head. “Not really, no. I think I was sleepwalking. Had a really fucked up dream about Stilinski and those Oni creatures.”

Danny makes a face. “I couldn’t talk to Melissa, but Scott’s here. I saw him come in, and he was talking to her. Which means we should probably get you out of here before he spots you.”

Which means they just came here and spent a few hours in the ER for nothing. No pills, no magic shot, nothing. All he got was some sleepwalking and hallucinations and he’s still tired.

“Yeah, fine, let’s go.” Jackson takes a step, wavers again, and Danny gets an arm around his waist. Jackson takes the support that’s offered, leans into Danny’s heat and stability as they walk out. “You’ll be my anchor, help me get through the night without any more nightmares, right?”

There’s a pause, and when Jackson glances over, Danny’s looking straight ahead as they navigate through the halls. “Yeah,” Danny says quietly. “I’ll be there for you. I’m not going anywhere, Jackson.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, we have fully hit the plot of 3b, and Jackson thinks he hallucinated it. :) We have also reached the 2/3 mark on this story, which means it's all downhill from here. Happy Sunday and thank you for being here! The next part will post on Sunday, July 31, so hopefully I will see you then. BTW, if you know someone who's waiting for the story to be complete before reading, the final part will post in mid October (and the first part of the sequel will post on that same day).
> 
> Thank you all for your lovely comments (I'm behind on responding, I'm so sorry!) and for being along for the ride. I love you all. If you want to chat, come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	25. Chapter 25

Danny’s and Jackson’s phones chime at the same time, moments before Danny’s phone rings. While Danny answers the phone, Jackson looks at the message—a group chat from Lydia to both of them. _Stiles is missing_.

“I haven’t seen him.” Danny goes silent, listening intently. “Jackson said—” He cuts off, glances at Jackson and presses speaker on the phone.

“Jackson said what?” Lydia’s voice is high-pitched, intense. “Jackson, are you there with Danny? What did you say?”

Jackson looks down at the phone in his hand, then back to Danny’s phone. “I just had a dream about Stiles when I was at the hospital. Nightmare, really. He looked about as exhausted as I felt.”

“We already checked the hospital.” Lydia sighs, sounds defeated. Jackson can hear the slow knock of her heart, knows that she’s gone past anxiety and is resigned. “This is Stiles, and I know he’s smart. He can survive out there. But he’s not like you, Jackson. He can’t grow fur, he can’t stay warm. He doesn’t have a den or a pack or some other place to go. And I don’t know why he’s _gone_. Something’s wrong, Jackson.”

“Is everyone out looking for him?”

Dead silence for a long moment before Lydia says, “What do you think?”

Jackson glances at Danny, and Danny nods. “We’re heading out, too. We can take a walk past his house, see if there’s any kind of a trail. Did he take his car?”

“We’ve got the Jeep. It’s at the hospital,” Lydia says softly. “Just no Stiles.”

Despite the evenness of her breath and heart, she still sounds scared. And Jackson might not always get along with Stiles, but he doesn’t want him hurt. Or dead. “We’ll find him if we can, Lydia,” he assures her. “Danny will keep in touch with you. I’m not going to be in any shape for texting.”

A soft laugh. “Thanks, Jackson. People going missing in Beacon Hills is never a good thing.”

“You came back,” he points out. “Stiles will, too.” He’s not going to mention Erica, who didn’t survive, or the countless others. Focus on the good outcomes, and get Lydia to look at it that way too.

The phone line clicks dead, and Jackson tosses it back to Danny. He leaves his own on the desk before he strips out of his clothes, stretching his arms high overhead, twisting slightly to feel his back crack.

“Stop showing off.” Danny sits on the bed, starts pulling his shoes on without looking at Jackson.

“So you think it’s worth showing off?” Jackson grins, swings his arms a few times before he twists again. When Danny doesn’t answer, Jackson grumbles at him, slowly folds to sit cross-legged on the floor. There’s no point in going furry yet, not until they’ve figured out a plan.

“You can drive my car if you want,” Jackson offers. “Or yours. Do you want to start at the Stilinski house?”

“I think we should start at the Preserve. Doesn’t everything keep coming back to that stump?” Danny reaches for a hoodie, shrugs into it. “And if we’re going to talk, put on clothes. Otherwise shift.”

“I can’t talk if I shift.” It’s not like it matters what he’s wearing or not wearing. “Fine, we start at the Preserve and I’ll try to find recent traces of Stilinski. You won’t complain if I shift back and talk to you, and we’re packing a bag of clothes for me in the car because I’m not staying a wolf if we need to deal with anyone else.”

Danny picks up Jackson’s keys from the desk. “Shift and let’s go, Jackson. I know you’ve already got a bag in your car, so fine, we’ll take that and you won’t get more fur all over mine. It’s going to be dropping below freezing tonight, and if Lydia’s calling us to help, that means she’s exhausted everything else. So let’s get out there and try to save his life.”

Jackson lets the change wash over him, shakes out his fur. He knocks against Danny’s legs as he pads out of the room next to him, lopes down the stairs and out. He refuses to take the back seat of the car, curling up on the passenger seat, the window open and the air frigid as it flows in, carrying scents while Danny drives. Jackson sits up as he catches something that smells like Stiles, whuffs to let Danny knows.

It takes some work before Danny manages to find the right path, and it’s definitely heading straight for the Preserve. When he pulls up and parks, the scent is stronger than before.

And it’s strange. Exhausted, sour, twisted with anxiety and upset.

Jackson shifts back, stays crouched on the ground. “I’m beginning to think my dream was not a dream.”

Danny’s hand falls to the top of Jackson’s head, touching him as if he were Kula. “How do you mean?”

“Stiles smells off, like something’s wrong. And I smelled that in the dream I had in the hospital, too.”

“Why did you think it was a dream in the first place?” Danny draws his fingers through Jackson’s hair, curls them against his skull before he pulls away.

“Because he doesn’t smell right,” Jackson repeats, even though that’s not the most disturbing part. “And because I may have seen him kill an Oni.” When Danny gives him a look, Jackson shrugs. “It was there, and then Stiles shoved his hand into it and it disappeared. Which is why I thought I was dreaming. I had everything mixed up in my head, and I was exhausted.”

“If you weren’t dreaming, what does it mean?” Danny asks, and Jackson doesn’t have an answer for him.

The best he can do is shift back to furred and four feet, and start following the trail.

It’s not a clear trail. It’s jagged and odd, like there are moments where Stiles just stops being Stiles, or maybe stops and changes direction in unexpected ways. It feels like the trail goes cold, but when Jackson circles out from the dead spot, he picks up the trail again, bright and sharp in his nose, and can follow it once more. It’s inconsistent, and frustrating, and confusing.

Jackson pauses at one point when he catches overlapped scents, not fresh but still tangled enough to say that they were there together. He sneezes and growls, pawing at the spot.

“Did you find something, Lassie?” Danny crouches down next to him, fingers slipping under his collar just as Jackson shifts back to human, leaving Danny with his hand on the nape of his neck.

“Fuck you, no dog jokes,” Jackson grumbles. “And it’s not Stiles. It’s Ethan and Scott’s scents.”

“Ethan’s spending more time with Scott than with me,” Danny admits. “Which isn’t exactly a good sign even though he says he wants to get back together. I want a boyfriend who wants to be my boyfriend, not someone who’s going to be falling over himself trying to fix something with his pack politics.”

“Ethan has a lot of shit to make up for,” Jackson reminds him. He bristles at the idea of Ethan trying to seduce Danny and ignoring him at the same time. He still doesn’t like Ethan, and the fact that he’s mistreating Danny only makes it worse. “Aiden has even more shit to make up for. I don’t know why Scott would even consider letting them into his pack. They don’t belong around Lydia or you.”

“I’m not in Scott’s pack.” Although Danny doesn’t dispute the idea that Lydia probably is in that pack. “Anything about the pack isn’t my decision. I don’t care about Scott’s pack. I just care about whether the guy who claims he wants to go out actually wants to spend time with me or not.”

“Do you think it’s just a tactic? That he’s being nice to you so he can look good to Scott?” Jackson asks, and Danny gives him a dirty look. “I’m not saying he is. But it’s possible.”

“I think it doesn’t matter,” Danny says. He slides his fingers out from under the collar, and they drift over Jackson’s spine briefly, leaving him shivering before Danny stands. “Let’s get going again. It’s starting to get cold, and we haven’t found Stiles yet, and I don’t think anyone else has either.”

“You’re knocking yourself out for someone you don’t even like,” Jackson mutters before he lets the change come and shakes out fur, abruptly warmer in the chilled air.

“Wrong.” Danny tugs at Jackson’s collar, gets them both moving again. “Stiles isn’t a bad person—and he’s not unattractive, either, not that I’m going to tell him that. He’s irritating as fuck sometimes, yes, but he’s part of our friend group. You seem worried about him, too.”

Jackson’s tongue lolls out as he tastes the air. He can’t explain while he’s in this form, but the scent for Stiles is so _wrong_ , and it makes Jackson wonder what he smelled like as the kanima. If someone could tell that he wasn’t himself when he was controlled by that thing.

He knows Stiles hasn’t been sleeping, and he knows how that feels. And now he’s missing.

So yeah, Jackson is worried. It’s not like he actually cares about the guy any more than he’d care about anyone else. He’s just worried that something’s gone _wrong_.

He catches a scent and starts to follow it, whining when he is overwhelmed by an acrid, bitter odor that burns his nose. He whuffs and sits down, shakes his head. He tries to push forward as Danny moves on, but he can’t force himself to do it. He barks loudly and sits down again, waiting.

“What?” Danny asks. “This is your den, isn’t it? Where you lived with the coyote.”

It is, at least it’s not far away, but it reeks so much that Jackson can’t tolerate it. He smells strangers, and he smells the McCall pack, and worse yet is this acrid layer of filth over it, something so annoying that his eyes water from the strength of it.

Danny’s nose wrinkles. “The ammonia smell?” he asks. “Must be worse to your nose. It smells like someone’s contaminated the site, probably trying to keep predators from settling here again.”

Jackson doesn’t care; all he know is that he doesn’t want to be anywhere near this place, and they need to go. Now. He catches at Danny’s jeans in his teeth and walks backwards, tugging gently enough that the denim won’t tear.

“Fine, yes, I get the point. Damn, you’re stubborn, even when you’re furred.” Danny’s fingers card through the fur at the top of his head. “Where next?”

Jackson has no idea. He swears he’s combed every part of the Preserve that they can get to on foot, and it’s fucking cold. He can’t imagine how Danny is tolerating it, and as soon as he thinks it, he presses closer to Danny, tries to offer warmth and body heat.

“I’m fine.” Danny shoves at him. “But you’re right, I can’t stay out here right now. Let’s go home. You drive, I’ll text Lydia, see if they’ve heard anything else. Stiles can’t possibly just have disappeared.”

But the thing is, it could be that easy. Jackson knows. He managed to disappear in plain sight, after all.

Maybe Stiles found some way to do the same.

#

“I need to go talk to Malia.”

Danny reaches into the back seat of the car, grabs the bag there and throws it smack into the center of Jackson’s chest. “Dress first, then talk.”

Jackson rolls his eyes. “You spend a lot of effort persuading me to get dressed.”

“Do you want me to spend it persuading you to get undressed instead?” Danny asks, his back to Jackson as he does something on his phone.

Jackson freezes, his shirt half out of the bag, fingers suddenly nerveless. He drops the bag with a soft thud, his jeans spilling onto the ground. “Of course not,” he growls, yanking his shirt on, pulling it down until the hem is out of shape from trying to cover his crotch. He crouches down, pulls the bag into his lap as he fishes for his underwear, and refuses to look up when Danny glances back at him.

“They haven’t found him yet. Lydia said something about a lead, so they’ve got ideas. She told us to go home and not worry.” Danny’s gaze rakes over Jackson. “Are you getting dressed or are you about to start rolling around in the leaves?”

Jackson balls up the now-empty bag and throws it at him. “Give me a minute.” He pulls the underwear on while standing up, awkward and off-balance, but at least he can tuck himself in and have some semblance of being decent. He yanks the jeans on, doesn’t care about shoes even though his feet are cold. “So, Malia. You can come with me. I just want to tell her about the den. She probably hasn’t been running around the Preserve much since she can’t drive to get here, and she’s stuck with only human feet.”

“How often do you see her?” Danny slides into the passenger seat. He rubs his hands together and as soon as Jackson gets the car going, Danny has them positioned in front of the heater. Danny makes a face at the cold air, rubs his hands again until Jackson reaches over and grabs Danny’s hands, pinning them between his own.

He’s a werewolf; he runs naturally hot. Of course he’s going to help.

“I go over most days if I’m bored.” Jackson shrugs one shoulder, feels the way Danny’s fingers shift beneath his. “I’ve been trying to help her get settled. Taught her how to use her phone and the TV. She figured out how to use the internet, but she doesn’t understand why anyone would bother. The last time I went over, she was watching _Saved by the Bell_ and wanted to know why anyone bothers with school if they don’t have to. She remembers enough of her life from when she was human before—it’s just trying to catch her up on everything that’s changed, and translating it because she’s older.” His mouth quirks because after he convinced her that she didn’t need to watch more teenage comedies, they’d spent a couple of hours curled up together watching a documentary on bears and wolves in the wild. “She’s her own person. I like her.”

Danny tugs on his hands, but Jackson curls his fingers tighter around them. “You’re not warm yet. Stay still and let me warm you up.”

Danny goes still. “You like her.”

“It’s not like it was with Lydia. She’s pack.” Jackson tries to figure out a way to express it, because there’s nothing there, not like that. He’d say she’s like a sister, but he’s an only child, so he can’t claim to know what that’s really like. “I’d be more interested in sex with Stilinski than with Malia.”

Both of Danny’s eyebrows go up. “Really.”

Jackson rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying it to make a point. There’s nothing like that about it. She’s my pack, and I want to make sure she’s okay, and that she knows about the den. Are you coming, or do I need to drop you off at home?”

Danny wiggles his fingers, and Jackson finally lets him go. He’s warm enough, and the air coming out of the vents is hot now as well. There’s a flush on Danny’s cheeks from the chilled air outside; Jackson looks away, focuses on getting his seat belt on rather than looking at Danny.

“I’m coming,” Danny says. “I’d like to meet the rest of your pack when she’s actually human.”

“Barely.” Jackson pulls out of the parking space. “She doesn’t really want to be human at all.”

“Do you?”

Jackson lets the question go for a while as he navigates through the streets of Beacon Hills. It’s cold enough out that most of the populace has retreated to the warmth of indoor heat, few people out this late. He pulls up to a stop sign not far from the Tate house, and he glances over at Danny. “Most of the time,” he says quietly. “Most of the time I want to be human. But some of the time, it’s a lot easier to be the wolf.”

He goes silent then, pulling into the driveway at Malia’s house and cutting the engine. She has the back door open and is standing there, waiting for them. Her nostrils flare when Danny approaches, then she grabs his arm and pushes him into the house. “My father’s not home,” she says. “But he’s coming back.”

She steps back from Danny, tilts her head to look him over from head to toe. Malia’s almost the same height as Jackson, but compared to Danny she’s smaller. She takes her time, her arms crossed as she looks at him, then she steps in close, hands out, gripping his shoulders. She goes up on tiptoe, yanks him down to her height and rubs her face against his cheek.

“I’m not straight, and I’m not interested,” Danny says, and Jackson bites back a laugh.

“I don’t care. You’re supposed to smell like pack.” She looks at him critically. “You reek of Jackson, but you don’t smell like me. I can fix that. Strip.” She steps back and grips the hem of her shirt, but Jackson manages to catch her hand before she tugs it off.

“He’s human,” Jackson says quietly. “Different rules.”

Malia considers him. “He tells you to get dressed.”

“Exactly.”

Jackson has told her stories of life outside of the Tate house, exchanging anecdotes about living in Danny’s house for her stories of frustration. He remembers the stack of DVDs in his trunk. “I brought you some more movies, but they’re still in my car.”

He can almost see the thoughts percolating through her mind as she assesses the situation, comes up with an appropriate solution. “I have movies,” she declares. “We can watch one on the couch. While wearing clothes.” She glares at Jackson. “You should stay human.”

Jackson nods, because she’s picking up on the cues. Malia’s not an idiot; she’s just missed out on almost a decade of human development, and he’s pretty sure that’s a deficit she can overcome.

She grabs Danny’s hand, tugs him into the living room and pushes him toward the couch. “I’ll get popcorn. I won’t burn it.”

“You’ve taught her about movies and popcorn,” Danny says dryly, as Jackson sinks onto the couch next to him.

“And ice cream, but she doesn’t share easily, so don’t ask. She’ll bite your hand if you try to take chocolate ice cream away.” Jackson nudges him. “She just wants to mark you as part of our pack.”

Malia returns with a bowl of popcorn and drops onto the couch on Danny’s other side. She leans into him, offers the bowl to Jackson. “Pick a movie,” she orders. “Or TV. I don’t care. My father says I have to go away.”

Jackson stops halfway to reaching for the remote, flummoxed by the abrupt switch in topic. He turns back to look at her. “What?”

“I have to go away,” she repeats, her head tilted and her lips pressed together. “Did you not hear me?”

“Go where?” Danny asks. “When?”

She blinks, looks from Danny to Jackson and back again. “He thinks I’m lying. He doesn’t believe me that I’m a coyote and he doesn’t know what to do with me. He said I’m insane, and unsafe, and he’s worried. He’s at Eichen House, making arrangements for me.”

“That’s….” Jackson fails to find the words. His parents believed him. However else they might be fucked up, at least they believed him. “Maybe Danny’s parents could help.”

“I’m pretty sure my mom still thinks that guest room belongs to you. We can’t take in another stray,” Danny says. Jackson leans into him, and Danny nudges him back. “Just because you don’t sleep in it doesn’t mean it’s not yours.”

“It’s okay,” Malia says. “I don’t want your bed, even if you don’t use it. I just want to be a coyote again, and go back to my den. I don’t think Eichen House can be any worse than being here. It doesn’t matter where I am. I just need to learn how to change back.”

“You can’t go back to the den,” Jackson tells her. He gets one hand up, leans over Danny to nudge her back when she encroaches, expression fierce. “It’s contaminated,” he says, voice low. “You can go back to the Preserve once you can change, I’m not going to stop you from doing that. You know that. And I’ll help you, if they let me come visit you in Eichen House. But McCall and his pack have been all over your den and someone put something all over it that stinks.”

Her gaze narrows. “What were you doing there.”

Danny gets his hands up, nudges them both back to either side of him. “Lean on me, but don’t fight over me. If you look like you’re going to have some kind of pack bonding wrestling match, I’m moving.”

Malia sinks back against the couch, sliding down to lean against Danny’s shoulder, her hand on his hip. She rubs her face on his arm, then pulls herself up again, nuzzles against his throat.

“We were looking for someone. Stiles.” Jackson pauses, gives her a chance to remember which one was Stiles, and he knows when it hits her.

“He took my doll. I don’t like him,” Malia mutters.

“Good taste.” Jackson winces when Danny elbows him. He shifts to get one arm across the back of the couch, behind Danny’s head, his fingers just barely touching Malia’s hair. She leans up into him with a pleased sound, and Jackson leans heavily into Danny so he can reach her as well.

“Why don’t you give up on talking and start a movie so we can have your pack cuddles.” Danny shifts, wedging his arm behind Jackson’s back, his palm hot against Jackson’s hip. “I will be much more comfortable when you both stop wiggling.”

“You smell better now,” Malia says. “Not perfect, but better.”

Jackson twists away long enough to get the remote, then takes advantage of the offer to slide in closer to Danny, tangling with him as they put their feet up on the coffee table. He switches on the TV, picks something from the Discovery Channel for the background, and lets it go. Malia talks idly in the background, fingers skating over Danny’s chest as she asks questions, and Jackson feels the rumble of Danny’s answers. It’s nothing he needs to pay attention to, not right now, and for once he’s comfortable enough to just let himself drift. He’s with pack, and he’s safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a rainy Sunday here, and I have a ton of chores and stuff to do, but I'm starting the morning with this! I still haven't caught up on comments; I'm so sorry, because July has just been epicly busy. But I read every comment (oftentimes more than once) and I love you all for leaving love for me. Thank you so much.
> 
> We'll be back here again next Sunday, August 7, for another chapter. See you then! And until then, you can find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	26. Chapter 26

Jackson’s still half asleep when they leave Malia’s, so Danny drives home while he curls sideways in the passenger seat. He perks up when Danny slows the car while approaching the house. “What is it?”

“Brandon’s car is in my driveway.” Danny’s voice is low, flat, his fingers tight on the wheel.

A perfect end to a perfect night. “Great.” Jackson doesn’t really want to deal with him, and out of everyone, he doesn’t want Brandon knowing he’s back. “I think you’ve been out taking your dog for a walk. Drive by your house, then park around the corner and I’ll shift. We’ll walk back to your house. He probably won’t even notice you in my car.”

“Don’t bite him.” There’s almost a laugh under Danny’s words, and Jackson rolls his eyes.

He refuses to make a promise he might not keep.

He starts stripping as soon as the car stops, and while he opens the door with human hands, he’s on four feet and furred before he hits the pavement. He whuffs at Danny, dancing along the sidewalk while waiting for Danny to close the door.

“Oh sure, now you’re wide awake,” Danny grumbles, no heat beneath the words. Jackson knocks against his legs as they walk back towards the house, tasting the scent of Malia that still lingers around them both, mixed with exhaustion and frustration and anger. Jackson isn’t sure about the last. He replays the weight of Danny’s words, and he doesn’t think Danny’s upset with him, but still….

Jackson whuffs softly, butts his head against Danny’s thigh, relieved when Danny’s hand drops to his head.

“He doesn’t take no for an answer,” Danny mutters. “I thought we cleared this up before the party.” His fingers tense, pulling too hard in Jackson’s fur; Jackson whines and pulls away. “Sorry.” Danny shoves his hands back in his pockets, looks up and pastes on a smile that doesn’t match the scent that Jackson can still taste in the air.

Brandon pushes away from his car, stands there waiting for them. “I didn’t wake your parents up. Or sneak in.”

“That’s a good thing, since I wasn’t there and we’re not dating,” Danny counters. “Were you waiting here the entire time I was taking Kula for a walk?”

Brandon shrugs one shoulder. “Fifteen minutes? Maybe twenty? Your car was here, so I figured you’d be back soon when you didn’t answer your text.”

Danny pulls his phone out of his pocket, frowns at the screen before shoving it back out of sight. “I could have been asleep. Were you going to just sit here all night?”

“Your light’s on.” Brandon approaches, one corner of his mouth quirked up. “I know you. You were either buried in code, and you’d see the phone eventually, or you went out to walk around the block while you figured something out. Either way, you’d talk to me, and here you are.”

Jackson slips between them, growling until Brandon backs up and gives Danny some space.

“Call off your dog. He doesn’t like me.”

Danny snorts, crouching down to ruffle Jackson’s fur. “I don’t like you much right now either, Bran. Didn’t I tell you that I’m not interested?”

“We’re good together, Danny, you know that.” Brandon takes a step forward, stops when Jackson curls his lip, growing low. “Is it because Ethan’s back? He doesn’t deserve you.”

“And you do?” Danny comes to his feet in a quick, fluid motion. He pushes past Brandon, heading for the back door. “It’s not because of Ethan. It’s me. I’m fine just like I am right now. Maybe I just want to keep my options open.”

“For what?” Brandon moves faster than Jackson expects, skirting around Jackson to follow Danny to the door.

“For _nothing_.” Danny has one hand on the doorknob as he turns back. He taps his thigh, and Jackson acts the good dog and rushes forward to sit next to him. “For me, Brandon. You treated me like shit, and I don’t care if you’ve got the best mouth in Beacon Hills, that’s not going to make it better. And Ethan—that’s none of your business. Just accept that I’m not getting back together with you. I’m done making bad decisions, and you are a really shit decision for me. So go. Get out of here. Or I’ll let Kula bite you. You know he wants to.”

Jackson growls for emphasis, takes a step toward Brandon and smirks inwardly when Brandon takes a quick step back.

“I’d go now,” Danny says, hooking one finger in Jackson’s collar. “Because if you’re not in that car soon, I’m going to let Kula go.”

It’s fun to bark loudly, snarl as he pulls against the hold Danny has on him. It’s fun to see the way Brandon’s skin pales, taste the scent of fear rising abruptly as Brandon backpedals several steps down the driveway. Jackson settles just for a moment, then lashes out again with a fresh bark before Danny tells him to hush.

“Go,” Danny says, and finally, Brandon does.

Jackson shifts back as soon as he’s inside, and grins widely. “He didn’t piss his pants, but I swear, he was close.”

“You’re an asshole to enjoy it that much,” Danny mutters, the corners of his lips just barely turned up in a hidden smile. He grabs the robe off the hook and hands it to Jackson, but doesn’t say anything when Jackson just loops it over his arm, holding it in front of his crotch as they climb the stairs to Danny’s room.

“You love me anyway.” Jackson smirks as Danny glares at him.

“Sometimes I don’t know why.” Danny sits heavily on the bed, toes off his shoes and kicks them away. “Close the door. I just want to get some sleep right now, I feel like we’ve been up forever and we walked miles.”

“We still don’t know about Stiles.” Reality crashes back in and Jackson drops the robe over the chair so he can pick up his phone from where he left it on his desk. He has a series of texts from Lydia, but nothing hopeful. He also has one short text from Malia: _I like him_. He laughs softly, sets his phone down.

“We don’t, but Lydia said they have it as much under control as they can manage, and I’m human. I’m not getting any more done tonight,” Danny admits. “So let’s just get to sleep, okay?”

Jackson’s not as comfortably tired as he was at Malia’s, but there’s a chance he could sleep. He lets the wolf come over him, falling to four feet and leaping up onto the bed, nuzzling close to Danny and licking at his nose until Danny pushes his head down.

“Are you going to have nightmares?” Danny asks, his fingers still tangled in Jackson’s ruff, half scritching him and half playing with the collar.

Jackson huffs out a sigh. He can’t answer that, can’t even shrug to say he doesn’t know. There’s no guarantee, but it’s probable. Highly probable right now, his mind swirling around the ideas of drowning, the den being wrecked, Malia potentially being in danger. He can’t stop thinking about Stiles, out there in the cold, possibly hurt and with something so deadly wrong with his scent. Even the idea of Ethan and Brandon… Jackson puts his paw over his nose and whines softly, and Danny huffs.

“Just shift back,” Danny grumbles. “Change back, put on pants, and get into bed. We both know you’re going to end up human anyway, so you might as well start out that way.”

Jackson cocks his head, uncertain.

“Change, and dress,” Danny repeats. “And do it quickly, because I’m tired.”

“I’m still worried about Stiles,” Jackson admits, as soon as he has a voice. Danny throws a pair of sweats at him, and Jackson has them up over his hips before he realizes they smell like Danny, not himself.

“Come here.” Danny crawls under the covers, lifts the blanket to make space for Jackson. It’s strange to settle into the bed like this, Danny unashamedly tugging at Jackson until he has them both fit together, Danny spooning him from behind. “I’ve got my phone.” Danny shows it to him, the last message from Lydia a response to Danny’s query for a status: _I don’t know yet, but we’re hopeful. I’ll text when we find him_. “If anything changes, we’ll know.”

The problem is, Jackson’s awake now. Too awake to sleep. Too awake to be indifferent to where he is, to the body pressed up against him. He moves, and Danny’s hand grips his hip, holds him in place. Jackson can’t breathe, going still immediately.

“Shh.” Danny’s mouth is against the nape of his neck. “Just relax, Jackson.”

“I’m trying.” He licks his lips, mouth dry. “Stiles,” he says, because he can’t lie, but he can try.

Danny blows out air, warm and tickling the back of Jackson’s neck. “We aren’t going to stay up all night staring at the—” The phone buzzes, and Danny lowers it so that he can look over Jackson’s shoulder to read it.

_Stiles is safe, but something’s wrong._

Jackson rolls over on his back, takes the phone from Danny. _Wrong, how?_

_I had a premonition? Something. I went to Eichen House to find him, but he wasn’t there. He was in the coyote den. But Eichen House… it was involved somehow. And Stiles’s head is all fucked up._

Jackson presses his lips together because this is the second time someone’s mentioned Eichen House tonight. It’s not a good place—they’ve all heard of it, and no one wants to be there.

But he’s not going to betray Malia’s confidence and mention that she’s going there.

 _Stiles smells off_ , he says instead. _I don’t know why, but he doesn’t smell like himself._

 _We’ll make sure he’s okay_. The reply comes quickly, and Jackson lowers the phone, glances at Danny lying beside him. When it buzzes again, he lifts it back into view. _Thank you for looking for him._

Jackson sends back a reply, hands the phone to Danny to put on the nightstand. Danny rolls back toward him, manhandles him back into position with Danny curled against his back. “Did she say he was in the den?” Danny’s words are slow, and his hands are distracting, sliding along Jackson’s side, down over his hip and back again. Jackson makes a noise of assent, not trusting himself to find words, and Danny’s head falls against his back.

“Interesting,” Danny murmurs, lips against Jackson’s skin. “Since you couldn’t even go near the den when we were looking for him.”

And it is an interesting thought. A very interesting thought. But Danny’s hand slides over Jackson’s hip, ends up pressed against his abdomen, holding him securely back, fit neatly against Danny’s front, and Jackson can’t find an answer. He closes his eyes, breathes deep and tries to relax.

Danny’s breath is already even, falling into the rhythm of sleep, and it lulls Jackson, lets him forget about Stiles and Malia and Eichen House. It lets him match that slow breath, and follow Danny into sleep.

#

Jackson wakes into warmth and solidity, the feel of Danny heavy against his back, one arm wrapped around Jackson’s center as Danny leans against him, spooning him. It’s comfortable and he’s slow to wake, rising from the depths of sleep for once, rather than trying desperately to surface from a nightmare. He stretches, pushes back and feels the way Danny’s hips move, idly grinding against him.

Jackson pushes back again without thinking about it, the smell of arousal thick in the air, his dick hard and aching where it brushes against his sweats and the bed. Danny murmurs in his sleep, tightens his hold on Jackson’s waist, nuzzles against his back.

It’s enough to bring Jackson fully awake, out of the loose, comfortable edges of sleep, slamming him into full coherency and remembering that this is not his to take. That he can’t fuck this up, can’t break his connection with his anchor. He needs Danny too much and Danny’s made it plain and clear more than once: he’s not Danny’s type.

Not that Danny is Jackson’s type. Not really. He doesn’t know what’s changed, why he’s thinking about it now, and he blames it on the constant proximity, the fact that his wolf trusts Danny more than anyone. It’s morning wood and nothing more.

Except that it would be so easy to roll over, push back into him, grind against him hip to hip, and the image of it in his mind is bright and bold and Jackson can almost feel it, the hot hard press of another body against his. He groans softly, and Danny murmurs sleepily, and _oh fuck_ , he can’t do this.

He can’t risk it.

Jackson manages to roll over, falling off the bed and dragging the comforter with him as he goes. He lands in an inelegant heap on the floor, tangled in fabric, his ass hurting while his dick still aches. Danny leans up, and Jackson stares at him, at the familiar chest that’s close enough to touch and he can’t catch his breath. Jackson opens his mouth, tries to suck in air and feels his throat closing, like he’s drowning in the air. He reaches for his own throat, eyes wide, breath whistling as he gasps.

“Shit. Nightmare?” Danny blinks and his eyes go from sleep-fogged to the clarity of morning. His own sweats are riding low and Jackson focuses on the cut of his hip, gaze trailing along the sharp line as Danny slides across the bed and over the edge, landing next to Jackson on the floor. Danny reaches for him, pulling him in close, pressing Jackson’s face against Danny’s chest.

Skin. Heat. Warmth.

Danny’s scent all around him, thick with morning hunger and day-old breath. Jackson shudders through another breath, and Danny whispers _shhh_ as he manages to get one hand under the collar, lightly stroking the soft skin that’s hidden there. Fingers trail along Jackson’s shoulder, back and forth, lightly circling his throat, echoing the line of the leather that lies there.

“It’s okay,” Danny murmurs. “You’re not drowning, Jackson. I’ve got you.”

Jackson holds on, wraps his arms around Danny, buries his face against his throat. He licks his lips, tongue flicking out to taste the salt on Danny’s skin and the jump of his pulse.

He is so fucked.

Lips part, and he sits there, mouth slightly open and pressed against Danny’s skin, breathing in his scent. Everything focuses down to that point, and where Danny’s fingers slide along the collar, reminding Jackson that he’s safe. He’s safe.

There’s a knock on the door and it nudges open. “It’s time for you to get ready, Danny,” his mother says, voice low and even. There’s a pause, and Jackson can’t feel if Danny has shifted to look at her, and he doesn’t want to move so he can see for himself. Her voice is careful when she speaks again, “The offer to find someone for you to talk to is still open, Jackson,” she says quietly. “Don’t forget that the guest room is yours.”

Another long pause, then the squeak of the hinges before the door clicks closed, and Jackson relaxes with a long, low, shuddering breath.

Danny’s palm is flat against his cheek. “Hey. That must have been a bad one.”

Jackson doesn’t want to look up, doesn’t want to move from where he lies curled in Danny’s arm, breathing his scent. He nods once, lies without a word.

“Look at me.”

Jackson takes one more breath, then slowly opens his eyes, leans back enough to meet Danny’s gaze. “I’m fine,” he says. He tries not to tilt his head, to press into the touch still lingering against his cheek.

“You sure?” Danny brings his other hand up, cradles Jackson’s face. “Talk to Derek, see if he’s ever met a therapist who knows about the supernatural. If you’re not going to talk to me, you need to talk to someone. The nightmares aren’t getting any better.”

That’s the funny thing—there were no nightmares at all this time. Nothing. Just peaceful sleep and a raging hard-on, and an unwelcome wish to make a mess of things with his best friend.

Jackson presses his lips together, nods once. “I’m fine, Danny. It was just something when I woke up. You know what it’s like when you’re not really still sleeping, but you’re not awake yet either, right?” When it’s that state where you’re still almost dreaming and anything’s possible and nothing’s quite real.

Yeah, that time of day.

Danny’s brows draw together, furrowed in concern. He huffs a sigh, then pats Jackson’s cheek. “Fine. I’m going to go get ready for school. If you want to talk later, I’ll be around.”

“I’ll talk to Derek.” Jackson offers the concession, even though there is no way in hell he’s talking to Derek Hale about therapy. He pulls the blanket close around himself, stands slowly and assesses the damages to his dignity and to the bed.

“Good.” Danny glances at the bed, then at Jackson, and raises one eyebrow. “You messed it up, you fix it.” He grabs his clothes and heads off to the shower.

Jackson takes advantage of the moment to fall back on the bed, legs spread, arms out, and eyes closed. The emergency of the morning has passed, but his skin still itches with something, and being surrounded by Danny’s scent helps. It’s not like he needs to make the bed right this second. For now he can stay right here and take care of everything else later. For right now, he can just breathe.

#

Jackson stares at the door to the clinic. The note taped to the inside of the window seems to have been hurriedly written, the letters pressed into the paper and shaky at the edges.

_Closed until further notice. Family emergency. Everyone will be contacted to reschedule._

This is not what he expected to find. Fuck.

He could ask Scott—Jackson assumes he still works here—but that would mean admitting that he’s here in the first place, and just… no. Besides, this really isn’t an issue he wants to discuss with Scott.

He slides open his phone, finds Deaton’s contact information and presses send. He holds the phone to his ear and listens to the way it rings. He lets himself lean against the door, crosses his legs and stares skyward as the rings keep going and nothing happens.

This is obviously a dead end.

He presses the button to end the call, and his phone chimes with an incoming text.

_What is it, Jackson?_

In all his views of the future, texting the local vet had never really been something Jackson thought about before. He stares at the phone, tries to organize his thoughts into something that fits into a fucking text.

 _I’m worried about Malia. Her father doesn’t believe her_.

He waits, wonders if Deaton even knows who he’s talking about, and whether Deaton would bother to ask. He seems like the kind of person who doesn’t like surprises and who likes to appear omniscient. The idea of stumping him makes Jackson smile, the expression quickly shifting to a frown because he doesn’t want to stump Deaton. Not now. Right now he needs help from someone who understands the supernatural.

_The coyote? I take it you knew her when you were wild._

Jackson huffs. _Yes. The coyote. Who isn’t exactly a coyote anymore and her father thinks she’s insane._

The next text is quick in returning. _I am sorry to say that unless she comes to me for help, my hands are tied. I am bound up with far more urgent matters at the moment than a girl who would prefer to be a coyote_.

Well, that makes Deaton sound like a fucking dick, doesn’t it?

 _If someone can’t help her, she’s going to get stuck someplace bad. He’s going to send her away_.

He taps his fingers against the side of his jeans, gets caught up thinking about the rhythm, trying to focus on that rather the nerves and worry that he is absolutely incapable of taking care of his pack.

 _Perhaps you should take the issue to the Alpha of Beacon Hills_.

Jackson makes a face. _Derek? He’s not an Alpha any more._

_Scott._

Oh fuck no. Jackson shakes his head at the screen, forgets that Deaton can’t see his expression. _One: Scott doesn’t know I’m here unless you told him, and I don’t want him to. Two: Malia doesn’t like Scott since he’s the one who forced her back to human._

There’s no response for long enough that Jackson thinks Deaton’s set the phone aside, decided to end the conversation. He shoves his phone in his pocket, turns toward the door and pounds both hands into it in a fit of frustration. It bounces under the impact, and he can see the place where he’s hit, little fractures and dents in the wood. It feels better to have left his mark here, and he has the ridiculous thought for a moment to piss on the ground, let any other wolves know that he’s been here. That he’s angry, and that this is partly his space.

It’s a stupid idea, and Jackson takes a step backwards, reminds himself that he’s human, not actually a wolf.

His phone buzzes, and he pulls it out, looks at the text.

 _I am sorry I cannot help you right now, Jackson. We can speak when I return_.

It’s no help for Jackson, and it’s definitely going to be too late for Malia by then. Jackson has no idea what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, and welcome to the end of another week! I'm excited because I just finished drafting the fourth chapter of the sequel to this story this morning, and I kind of love how it's coming together. It's been a good weekend for writing (for once) and a good week overall. The sun is warm, the campground is relatively quiet, and I'm feeling nice. I hope y'all enjoy this chapter.
> 
> The next chapter will post on Sunday, August 14th. If you'd like to catch up with me in the meantime, come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	27. Chapter 27

_Stiles might be dying. And he’s missing again._

It never seems to be good news when Lydia texts. Jackson slides his thumb across the screen, as if there’s something he can do even though nothing comes to mind. _Want me to go look for him?_

 _It’s probably not a good idea_.

The response comes quickly, and Jackson’s lips press together as he frowns at the screen.

“It bothers you.” Danny settles onto the bed next to him, leans in close.

“It’s just Stilinski,” Jackson mutters. It bugs him that he feels helpless about Stilinski, of all people. That he feels like he should be doing something. It’s just because Lydia cares about him, because she’s so worried, and Jackson’s worried about her.

 _Something’s really wrong with him,_ Lydia texts. _He might have the same thing that killed his mother. And Derek thinks he might be possessed_.

“Those two statements don’t go together,” Danny says quietly, and Jackson snorts dryly.

“It’s Stilinski.” As if that means something. “And neither of them is anything good.”

 _So I was right,_ he texts back. _That he smells wrong._

_Derek said he smells conflicted. Like he’s fighting with himself. And he destroyed the power at the hospital and ran off._

Jackson drops the phone to one side, brings his feet up and wraps his legs around his knees, his heels pressed against the edge of the bed. He bites the inside of his mouth and tries not to think about the nightmares, the images he’s seen of what he did to people.

He tries not to think about what Stiles might do to someone.

Danny leans into him, and Jackson slowly unwinds, leans back against his best friend and manages to release his legs. He lowers them slowly until he sits cross-legged. Danny has one hand behind Jackson’s back, planted in such a way that Jackson can press against it and take strength. Which is good, because Jackson has to pick up his phone and ask one more question: _Possessed in an evil way, like being a homicidal lizard?_

There’s a short pause, then just one word in return: _Yes_.

Danny’s hand closes over Jackson’s, tugs the phone away from him. “You’re done. Stiles isn’t you, and you’re not him. If Lydia says to stay put, then we stay put this time. We stay out of the way.”

It doesn’t feel right to do nothing. It doesn’t feel right to just sit here, knowing that Stiles is going through the same shit that Jackson did, and do _nothing_. Jackson has no idea what it’s like in Stiles’s brain, whether he knows while it’s happening, or if it will just slam into him later, when it’s over, when the pack has put him back together.

Because of course they’ll put him back together. This is fucking Stiles Stilinski, who has people who care about him. McCall won’t let him die because of some stupid possession, and Lydia’s his friend. They may have hunted Jackson, but they’ll haul Stilinski back.

Not like what happened when Jackson died.

He only realizes he’s shaking when Danny’s arms tighten around him, holding on and pulling him in. Jackson turns slightly, tilts into Danny and lets him take his weight. Eyes closed, Jackson shudders and breathes through it.

Danny’s hand slides along his back. “So, you seeing yourself in Stiles now?”

“He could never be me,” Jackson says, but the words lack heat.

Danny’s low laugh shakes his body. “You broke the mold,” he admits. “But you know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” It’s an answer to the last statement, to the part about seeing himself in Stiles, to everything. “Lydia didn’t say what he’s possessed by, or why, or anything useful. And sitting around doing nothing doesn’t feel like a good idea.”

“Going out and getting in the way of an entire pack that’s looking for him isn’t going to help, either.” Danny’s hand is under the hem of Jackson’s shirt, warm and comfortable at the small of his back. “You don’t want to distract them, and there’s nothing you can do about it now. If Stiles is possessed, then he’s possessed, and they probably know more about it than we do. Lydia will bring us in if she needs us.”

“I promised Cora to keep Derek safe,” Jackson mutters, which is true, but isn’t the point at all.

“Then talk to Derek.” At Danny’s words, Jackson pulls back enough to give him a look, and Danny spreads his hands. “I know it’s triggering memories for you. But think about it this way: when they’ve rescued Stiles, there is going to be one person here who actually knows something about what he’ll have been through. Maybe you should think about that.”

Jackson slides off the bed, manages to yank off his shirt at the same time as he comes to his feet. He tosses it to one side, then stops short of pushing down his jeans. His thumbs rest on the open zipper, and he looks at the floor.

“What?” Danny asks.

Jackson yanks back up the zipper, buttons the jeans. He doesn’t look at Danny. “Let’s go downstairs and watch a movie.”

“Grab the laptop; we’ll watch in bed.” Danny holds out his hands, and Jackson moves slowly, grabbing Danny’s laptop from the desk and handing it to him. He hesitates, but when Danny slides over, makes space in the bed, Jackson settles next to him.

He lets Danny pick out a movie, not wanting to make any kind of a choice right now. It’s one of those films that is buried deep on Netflix, something with action and chaos and a name he won’t remember. It’s awful, but it’s distracting for a little while, and Jackson keeps staring at the screen, even after Danny succumbs to sleep.

#

Jackson can’t sleep. He heads downstairs carefully, trying not to let the stairs squeak and wake either Danny or his parents. He curls up on the couch, phone cradled in his hand, and texts Cora.

 _I’m doing a shit job of protecting your brother_.

He doesn’t really expect a reply back. He leans back on the couch, one leg propped up with his heel on the back of the couch, the other dangling down and foot brushing the floor. He sets the phone on his stomach, closes his eyes and tries to convince himself to drift.

It’s a surprise when the phone buzzes. _He doesn’t exactly like to be protected. He’s getting better about working with people though._

 _Do you know what’s going on now?_ Jackson asks. It’s the middle of the night for Cora, too, and something has to be keeping her awake. He suspects it’s worrying about her brother. Or maybe she’s worried about Stiles.

_I don’t want to talk about it. Is that why you’re up so late?_

Jackson snorts softly. _I don’t like thinking about someone being controlled_.

There’s a long pause, and Jackson closes his eyes again. He lets his arm fall across his eyes, trying to block out the light, but it doesn’t work. It still looks wrong, and bad thoughts still flicker around the edges of his mind.

He wonders if helping Stiles would help him. If being able to help someone else get past all the shit would help him put it away as well.

 _Talk to me about the swimming_.

That’s not an easy question. _It’s from when I was the kanima. It was afraid of water, because the guy who was controlling it drowned. Or almost drowned. I never figured out the details. I just got stuck with its fears._

 _You talk about it like it’s not you._ He can almost hear her blunt words, and he rolls his eyes at the phone.

 _It wasn’t me. I’m me_.

It seems simple in Jackson’s head, although he’s not sure anyone else gets it. He turned into the kanima, but it was never really him. It was something separate, no matter how many people seem to think it was just a part of him.

It can’t have been a part of him, or else that means that the killer was inside him all along.

 _Maybe try swimming somewhere other than a pool_.

He shakes his head, stares at the phone and tries to yank himself out of the memories. _Maybe. Can we talk about something else?_

He gets back a picture of Cora with her hair a mess and sticking out her tongue.

It’s easy to switch to Snapchat after that, send her a ridiculous picture and get one back. He doesn’t know how long they keep chatting, but it’s quiet and simple and the time passes while nothing else gets done. At least for a little while, he doesn’t have to think about evil spirits and people being missing.

Eventually Cora stops responding, and Jackson thinks that either it’s morning where she is, and she’s been pulled away, or she finally fell asleep. Jackson’s half dozing as it is, almost thinks he’s dreaming when he hears a motor outside. It doesn’t sound like Brandon’s car, but Jackson can’t think what other asshole would show up in the middle of the fucking night looking for Danny.

He grabs for a hoodie and yanks it on, slips out the back door quietly.

Oh. Motorcycle, not car.

Ethan, not Brandon. Not that that’s much better.

“What are you doing here?” Jackson curls his hands by his side, feels the way his claws want to pop out just from seeing the intruder.

Ethan’s nostrils flare, and he bares his teeth in a low growl. “So you’re the other wolf I smelled on Danny.” Ethan flashes his eyes, a bright brilliant blue, and Jackson doesn’t bother to hide his own blue flash in return.

Jackson steps forward, growling softly. “You can’t scare me. I already know you’re a killer, and in case you missed it, I’m a killer wolf too. Keep threatening Danny and I’ll carve your heart out with my claws.”

“I’m not here to threaten Danny.” Outrage and frustration in Ethan’s scent. “I _like_ Danny. I don’t want to see him get hurt, and things are dangerous out here, so _fuck you_ for thinking I’m the problem. Lydia said something about Danny looking for Stiles last time he went missing, and I wanted to make sure he wasn’t doing it again.”

“He’s still here. Sleeping, like a normal person. He’s not going to get involved in this supernatural crap.”

Ethan’s gaze narrows. “So he doesn’t know?” There’s a sharp laugh, but there’s no amusement in his scent. “So Danny just thinks you’re a dog. You’re a big dog and Danny has no idea about werewolves?”

Jackson doesn’t say a word, since obviously Ethan’s wrong. He knows Ethan’s seen him on two feet at least once; he remembers walking by him. But Ethan was distracted at the time, probably doesn’t remember his face and probably didn’t catch a scent. So he lets Ethan believe what he wants to believe, especially if that has a chance of keeping Danny safe. “It’s not like I want to go back to high school,” Jackson snarks, and Ethan’s laugh is louder now, a little darker.

“Do you think I’d go to high school for just anyone?” Ethan snaps. “I’m there for Danny. I’m in Beacon Hills because Danny’s here. Because I think we have a chance. More of a chance than Aiden has with Lydia.”

“That’s because Lydia knows what you both did,” Jackson counters. His claws are out now, still curled by his side but also pricking his own palms, leaving the scent of blood in the air. “You haven’t told Danny anything. If you really wanted some kind of a future with him, you’d tell him you’re a werewolf.”

“At least I’m not pretending to be a _dog_ ,” Ethan snarls.

They both take a step toward each other, stopping at the roar of another engine. Ethan freezes, turns just as Aiden pulls into the driveway.

“Ethan.” Aiden’s voice is firm. “We don’t have time for this. Scott wants us to keep looking for Stiles. We need to find him before—” He cuts off with a glance at Jackson, brows furrowing rapidly before he shifts into beta form. “Ethan, this is—”

“Danny’s _dog_.” Ethan grabs his helmet, tugs it on.

That’s enough. That’s more than enough.

Jackson shifts quickly, right out of his clothes, and leaps forward. He manages to catch Ethan’s calf as he swings one leg over the motorcycle, and he bites down, hard. He tastes blood in his mouth, leaps back as Ethan kicks out, lands in the driveway with his feet splayed and teeth bared, growling hard.

“Fuck you,” Ethan yells, revving the engine hard and pealing out, Aiden close behind.

There’s a bad taste in his mouth as Jackson shifts back to human, grabs his clothes and goes inside quickly. He leans over the sink, spilling water into his mouth to wash the bitter blood out, watching as it swirls down the drain. Ethan’s going to heal; Jackson knows this. But it felt _good_ to do it. At least Ethan knows now that Jackson’s serious. He’s not going to just stand by and let Ethan hurt Danny.

#

Stiles doesn’t show up.

There’s no miracle, no sudden re-appearance of Stilinski over the course of the weekend. Cora is silent, and while Jackson considers going to see Derek, he knows the pack is pulling together so he chooses to stay away. By Monday, things are almost normal, moving onwards despite Stiles still being missing, and Jackson wonders if this is it. If Stiles is simply gone.

He does, however, get a text from Deaton: _I have returned, if you still wish to speak._

Jackson might not be able to do a damned thing about Stiles Stilinski, but at least he can help his packmate. It’s been days since he last had a text from Malia, and he’s sure that she’s already been placed in Eichen House. Maybe Deaton can help him figure out a way in, so they can continue working on her transformation. So she can get back to where she belongs.

He sends her one more text— _I’m either getting you out, or coming in to see you—_ then he sets the phone aside as he quickly dresses. His phone rings with an incoming text and he grabs it quickly, hoping for a response from Malia.

 _I haven’t heard from you in a while, darling_.

His mother. Who he hasn’t texted or called, and who he should… fuck it. He sits heavily back on the bed and dials her number with the phone on speaker so he can get his sneakers on at the same time. “Hey,” he says as soon as she picks up.

“I didn’t expect you to call.” He can hear the uptick in her heart rate, suspects that he’d smell pleasure if he were with her. There’s a smile in her voice, and he hears the creak of a chair as she settles into it. “How are you?”

He makes small talk while he ties his sneakers, tells her that he’s talked to Lydia, and a little with Derek. That he’s slowly healing things with people. He leaves out the current problems, and when he mentions Malia, he doesn’t tell her that he’s trying to keep her from being incarcerated. He tries to keep the tone light, skating over the details in favor of just enough to keep her happy, and believing she’s involved in his life.

It’s a tough balance, but he thinks he strikes it. He hopes.

He keeps talking while he checks his appearance in the mirror. It’s funny how this has become his uniform now—a hoodie that covers his face, a t-shirt, sneakers. Nothing of wealth, nothing special other than the hint of Armani that permeates his skin from living with Danny.

He doesn’t need to find Stilinski. He’s become him.

“Jackson?”

He glances at the phone on the bed, picks it up again, uncertain how long he’s been silent. “Sorry, Mom, got distracted.”

“I understand.” There’s a small pause, a huff of a sigh. “I miss you. If you think you’d like to visit London, just let me know. I’ll send a ticket.”

He takes a step back without thinking, staring at the phone in his hand and shaking his head. “No. I’m good here in Beacon Hills. This is where I need to be. I can’t leave my pack.”

Another soft huff, the sound of hair moving as if she’s shaking her head. “They’ll be there when you come back.”

He smiles thinly. “You don’t want me to come back here. And this is the best place for me. Hasn’t Danny’s mom talked to you?”

“She has.” The words come slowly. “She says you’re still having nightmares.”

This is not where Jackson wants this conversation to go. “I am, but they’re getting better, and I’m working on it. I’m talking to people, and I’m pushing my limits, and I’ll get past it. The thing is—these are the people who understand why I’m having those nightmares. It’s not that I don’t want to be in London.” Lie, because he absolutely does not want to be in London. “It’s that I have to be here, now, in order to be who I am. Maybe someday you and Dad will come visit.”

He hopes that puts a final point on the conversation. The delight is gone from her voice, the smile no longer twisting her words. “I love you, Jackson,” she says, and the only thing that Jackson can say in return is _goodbye_ before he presses end on the phone.

He grabs his keys and heads out to Deaton’s. It’s quiet when he arrives, no other cars in the lot, the door open and waiting for him. He hears the barking as soon as he steps in, and he resists the urge to whuff back at the lot of them. Instead he stands at the counter, raps on it sharply and waits for Deaton to come out.

“It’s good to see you on two feet.” Deaton stands behind the counter, leaving it down and Jackson trapped on the other side.

Jackson smiles thinly. “I figured it’d be easier to drive over than to run over, since I have a car now. Since you’re back, does that mean you’re willing to talk about Malia?” He doesn’t want to get into any in-depth conversations about his status in Beacon Hills. Malia’s safety is the important point.

“I am aware of her whereabouts,” Deaton admits. “As far as I know, she is settling in well at Eichen House.”

“That place is—”

“I’m aware.” Deaton cuts him off. “However, they are not aware of her heritage or background, only that she was lost for several years, and survived on her own in the wild. They see her as someone who was raised by cougars. My point, Jackson, is that she’s safe.”

“If even one rumor about that place is true, she’s not safe.” Jackson takes a step forward, raps on the countertop again. “Maybe we should talk about this in the back. Just in case someone comes in.”

Deaton considers him for a long moment, then slowly lifts the gate for Jackson to duck under. He leaves it up, and Jackson feels something settle in his chest, knowing that he has an exit if he needs it.

“Beacon Hills is not safe,” Deaton says quietly. “How much are you aware of the current situation?”

“I’ve seen the Oni. I may have seen Stiles kill one, or that might have been a hallucination,” Jackson admits. He hops up on one of the exam tables, crossing his arms as he sits.

One of Deaton’s eyebrows rises. “I see. That fits with the situation as we know it. We believe that Stiles is no longer himself.”

Jackson breathes in slowly, digs his fingernails into the meat of his arm to ground himself. “Lydia mentioned that he might be possessed.”

“Exactly. We believe that he may be possessed by an ancient spirit—a chaotic and evil one, called a nogitsune.”

Jackson fights for composure. There are so many conflicting thoughts—that Stiles is somehow more important to Deaton than Malia, that they are letting this thing roam Beacon Hills, that they need to save Stiles. “If he’s possessed, then he’s not at fault.” It’s the first thing that comes out, the one that is on the tip of Jackson’s tongue.

“I know.” Deaton’s expression is even. “But that does not change the fact that he is dangerous and potentially a killer, all for the sake of chaos. It does not change the fact that Malia is safer in Eichen House, where she has four walls around her and a team of doctors willing to protect her. And it does not change the fact that we must find Stiles and put an end to this.”

“To the possession,” Jackson says firmly. “Not to _him_. You’re not going to give up on him the way you gave up on me.”

“We didn’t give up on you, Jackson.”

“ _I died_.” He tries to keep it low, but it’s a shout, the words echoing off the wall. He slides off the examination table, claws tipping his fingers, too sharp to keep his arms crossed now. “I _died_ , Deaton. They let me die. They hauled me back, but I had to die to change, and that shouldn’t be happening again. No one should be possessed. Fuck, you’ve already killed Stilinski once.”

“And that’s when it happened, when the door in his mind opened that allowed the nogitsune entrance.” Deaton tilts his head, regards Jackson. There’s no change to his heartbeat, despite the fact that Jackson has half changed. “Stiles is a strong young man. I am certain that with the right amount of help, he will be able to find his way back and emerge unscathed.”

“And I wasn’t strong.”

“This isn’t about you, Jackson.”

Simple words, but so very wrong. Jackson shakes his head, can’t find the right way to put his thoughts into words. No, this isn’t about Jackson. But it’s about possession, and Stiles, and about trying and possibly failing again to find the right way through a problem. It’s about dying, and it’s about killing, and it’s about losing control. It’s about not knowing how to find your way back once you’re already gone.

Jackson’s skin is tight, itchy. He unzips the hoodie and shrugs to drop it on the floor, his t-shirt following immediately after. He pushes his jeans down, hears Deaton’s low voice say his name, but he doesn’t care. “You think it’s different,” he says slowly. “But in the end, I don’t think it is. So I’ll go find Stilinski, and he’ll come back here, and you’re going to help him. No one else is going to die.”

He drops to his hands and knees as the change rushes over him, and as soon as he has fur, he races out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! Sorry I'm running late today; it's been a busy weekend. But hi, and happy Sunday! I hope your past week was good, and that the coming week is also a good one. It's certainly a busy time of year around here; in one week I take my eldest off for her first year of college. Meep! In the meantime, writing continues as I work on the sequel for this (almost done with chapter 6, and the first chapters are being betaed to ready them for October) and I prepare for the launch of my original web series (that'll be on Sunday, September 4th, I can't believe it's coming so soon!).
> 
> If you want to know what I'm up to, talk to me, flail together about things, or anything at all, come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)! I will see you here again for the next chapter on Sunday, August 21!


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTES: More drowning issues in this one and more panicking.

Jackson works his way through the town, seeking out the faint traces of that odd scent that currently belongs to Stiles, and slowly finds himself heading toward the school. Because of course, everything comes back to the school. The scents are muddied here, old traces of Stiles layered over fresh scents, and mixed with the hundreds of other students here as well. He lopes close to the school, ears pricked, listening for familiar voices. He hears Danny’s voice with others—gym class, as they head out on the cross-country trails.

It’s a rush of students, Danny and a girl quickly leading the group away from the building, coach moving along behind the pack. Jackson catches an acrid scent, and he whuffs as he takes off toward the trees. Stiles is with them.

Scott, Stiles, the twins—Jackson catches all their scents, along with the rest of the class. He spots the Asian girl sprinting ahead of Danny, and then Ethan overtaking Danny, knocking him off the path and down a hill to the side. Jackson skids to a stop, panting as he stays out of sight and looks down the hill to see Ethan straddling Danny, kissing him.

And Danny kissing him back.

Jackson stands there, frozen. He can smell musk on the breeze, the way Danny’s interest is rising, and he can smell Ethan as well. It’s not difficult to tease the _want_ out of the scents and he takes two steps back to put distance between himself and the boys.

“You missed me, huh?” Danny’s voice is loose and easy, his hand sliding under Ethan’s shirt, and Jackson’s had enough. He’s not going to watch Danny make a mistake again, and he’s not going to interrupt. He’s not going to do anything, not right now.

He wants what makes Danny happy, and he can hear the cadence of his heart, smell the _happywantpleased_ on the wind. Which means that for Jackson to do the right thing, he needs to leave.

He backs up slowly, taking care not to rustle the leaves. He can smell the rest of the students, including that awkward scent for Stiles, as well as fresh blood in the air and a sharp scream.

“We should—”

Danny’s voice is cut off, and Jackson lowers his head as he walks away. Ethan’s voice still carries to his ears. “We shouldn’t do anything but stay right here for now,” Ethan tells him. “We’re okay here. We’re good.”

Jackson hates to agree with Ethan, but as soon as he sees Coach, he’s thankful that Ethan knocked Danny over. He’s thankful that Ethan’s distracted Danny, gotten him out of harm’s way. Because Coach is lying there with blood pooling around him, Scott’s hand pressed to him and black lines snaking up Scott’s arm as he takes his pain. Stiles stands loosely over them both, his gaze fixed on Coach and his expression worried.

But his scent.

There’s a whisper of something pleased in his scent. Just a hint around the edges of concern, just a sweet little spiky note among the thick rust of worry.

Jackson takes a step back, and Stiles glances up, looks out into the trees and Jackson wonders if Stiles can see him. Smell him. He wonders what the nogitsune can do.

He needs to leave.

He walks away slowly, staying as silent as he can. There’s conversation behind him, worried voices and people calling 911, and he knows that the human problems will be taken care of in a very human way. Scott will take Coach’s pain, and they’ll get Stiles to Deaton, and Ethan will comfort Danny.

None of it is a comfort to Jackson. His wolf itches with the need to do something, and he lacks the means to do anything.

So he runs.

He runs into the Preserve with the hopes that he might see Derek, he might see someone. He wishes for Malia’s presence in furred form, to be able to race along with the coyote and hunt by her side, losing themselves in the simplicity of animal life.

He runs along the river, feet knocking pebbles down over the embankment, and he remembers Cora’s words. Maybe next time try something other than a swimming pool.

Maybe something like a river.

Maybe sometime like right now.

Jackson doesn’t give himself time to think, doesn’t let himself get worked up. He shifts direction and leaps out over the water, runs into thin air and feels that moment of hanging there before he falls.

The fall is faster than he expects; one moment his feet are moving in air, the next he is splashing through the surface of the water, sucked under by the current. It spills over him, slides into his mouth and he snaps at it, barking ineffectively and then remembering that he can’t breathe under here, that he can’t survive. He is bounced back up by the roll of water over rocks, and he breaks the surface, gasps for breath as he barks once, sharply, then it drags him under again. He can’t swim against the current, can’t push his way through as it rolls him in the water. Rocks batter against him and he closes his eyes, the filtered light flickering around him.

The water is winning, and he can’t fight it.

He can’t fight.

#

Jackson wakes up human, naked, and sprawled across stones where the river water is low and has spit him out. He can feel the bruises, sees the darkness thick against his skin, already yellowing from healing. He touches his head, and his fingers come away bloody, hair matted against his skull. When he sits up, the world spins, and he grabs onto the rock, grips it tightly while he tries to keep himself stable and upright.

It’s not worth it.

He lies down on the rock again, curls around himself and holds on, shivering. He closes his eyes, even though he knows it’s the worst thing to do with a head injury, and darkness claims him.

The next time he wakes, it’s dark. When he sits up, the world spins less. He’s able to splash himself with water, wash some of the blood off. It’s not light enough to see his own skin, but he can still feel the ache in his bones. His left hip hurts, and his right arm feels as if it may have been broken. There are no tender spaces on his skull, so the blood must have been all surface wounds.

He’s pretty sure there’s nothing wrong with his head, anyway, although Danny might argue with that. Or Lydia, or Cora. Jackson’s pretty sure they’d all tell him his head is a mess anyway, if they could. Except right now he doesn’t have a phone, or clothes, or any idea where he is. And the idea of shifting back into fur makes him feel vaguely sick to his stomach. He takes it as a warning sign that his body isn’t ready yet.

Jackson walks a little ways further down, figures out that he’s not actually on the river, but rather a little pool that snuck off to the side. He finds the rush of the water again and stops just before that. He wades in carefully, feels the tug of the current at his feet and the slow panic that settles into his mind. He forces himself to sit down on the large flat of a stone, use the rush of the water to finish washing his body clean before he climbs out in a rush.

He’s hungry, and he’s not sure how much time has passed. He’ll need to find food when he can shift, before he goes home. But for now, he’s not going anywhere, not like this. He walks far enough to find a place that he can make as safe as possible, where he can seclude himself from anything that might try to find him while he sleeps in this soft, human skin. He’s lucky to have made it this far, he knows. Right now he just wants to heal enough that he can shift and go home.

#

When he wakes, Jackson is relieved to be able to shift back into wolf form again. Once he’s wearing fur, he hunts first, then cleans himself before he lopes back through town to Deaton’s place. He finds a small bag tucked under the front passenger tire, stinking of Deaton and himself, and when he noses it open, his discarded clothes spill out. He makes sure he’s alone before he shifts back to human and quickly finds the key and yanks open his car. He dresses in the passenger seat, then thumbs through his messages to see how much time has passed.

A lot.

Shit.

Jackson pushes his way across and falls into the driver’s seat, drops his phone back in the passenger seat, and heads out without responding to a single message. He pulls into Danny’s driveway, relieved to see only Danny’s car when he gets there. He goes to the back door and lets himself in, toes off his shoes as he calls out and hears the thump from upstairs.

Ears prick and he listens, nose lifted to catch the scents in the air. One heartbeat, one scent. Only Danny.

Jackson stands at the base of the stairs as Danny comes down them in a rush, holds his ground when Danny grabs him and yanks him in, slapping his back and squeezing hard. One hand comes up to grip the collar as Danny leans his forehead against Jackson’s. “I couldn’t even tell someone to go look for you,” Danny mutters. “I figured you were out there, somewhere, as a wolf. Deaton said you left his place on four legs. But damn it, you disappeared. Asshole.”

Jackson lets himself hold on, bury his face against Danny’s chest and nuzzle him, leaving his scent on the fresh, clean shirt. “You already knew I was an asshole,” he grumbles, eyes closed, pleased at the pressure around his body and against his throat. He arches his neck, presses back into Danny’s touch, and likes the way fingers flatten out against his skin, tugging but gentle. “I fell into the river.”

Danny pulls back, gaze narrowed. “You fell into the river? What happened to being afraid to swim?”

“Fell, jumped.” Jackson shrugs one shoulder, doesn’t meet his gaze because yes, he shouldn’t have done it, and he really doesn’t need to see that in Danny’s expression. “It was a stupid idea. Blame Cora—she said to try somewhere that wasn’t a pool. Point is, it took me some time to heal.”

“And you probably set yourself back pretty far on any progress you made toward overcoming a fear of drowning,” Danny says dryly.

Jackson shudders with the memory of the water closing thickly over his head. “Probably.” He can admit that at least. “It seemed like the one thing I could control right then, but I couldn’t even manage that. On the other hand, the water didn’t win. I’m alive.”

Danny’s fingers thread through Jackson’s hair, push it back from his face briefly before he lets go. “I’m glad for that. Don’t be an idiot and run off on your own next time.”

Jackson steps back, puts distance between them. “You were busy.” He can’t smell Ethan on him right now—and he doesn’t smell Ethan in the house at all—but he knows they’ve been together. He saw that smile, smelled Danny’s reaction. “You’re back with Ethan, so there will be plenty of times we’re on our own.” He pulls his phone out, glances down at that rather than looking at Danny.

He has a series of messages from Lydia, the first telling him to call her immediately, then later ones telling him not to worry. The last of the set says simply, _Stiles is in Eichen House_.

Jackson swallows a mirthless snort. He wonders if Deaton’s more concerned about the place _now_ , since Stiles is there. Or if anything changed, if Stiles is better. If he’s not possessed any more and he’s recovering. Jackson is still pretty damned sure that Eichen House isn’t the best place to do it.

He unlocks his phone and sits down on the edge of Danny’s bed, gives him space to sit down next to him. Danny’s warm as he leans in, pressed hip to knee against him, head tilted to watch as Jackson texts. _What did you want me to call you for?_

There’s a long pause, and for a minute Jackson thinks she’s too busy, but eventually a series of texts roll through, short and sharp.

_It doesn’t matter now. We’ll talk when it’s a better time._

_Stiles is in Eichen House. He asked to be there._

_He is possessed. Deaton did something to give Stiles control._

Jackson feels those words as a cold chill in his gut. _So Stiles knows what’s going on_. It’s not a question when he sends it, but a statement of fact; all he’s looking for is confirmation.

 _Yes_.

“Jackson, let it be. If they wanted our help—”

“They don’t know you know anything about what’s going on,” Jackson says quietly, trying to keep his voice under control. He can feel the shudder building in his body, can hear the edge of his voice shaking. “And Lydia and Derek promised not to say that I’m here. I’m the only one who really gets it. The only one who understands what he’s going through.”

“And he’s still going through it.” Danny covers Jackson’s phone with his hand. “You can’t fix it for him, and this sounds like Deaton’s actively working on the problem.”

“In _Eichen House_.” Jackson stresses the words. “The same place where Malia is. Which means now she’s even less safe, and Stiles is in a place where, according to the rumors, they still think electroshock is a valid form of therapy. You and I both know that’s a load of shit.”

The phone buzzes, and they both look down. Danny slowly moves his hand away. _Jackson, are you all right?_

Danny takes the phone away from him. Jackson could fight it, but he’s not sure if he should even bother. _No, he isn’t. Flashbacks._

The phone rings and Jackson lies back on the bed, lets Danny pick up Lydia’s call. Her voice cuts through clearly on speaker. “Jackson, where have you been?”

“He took an unexpected swim in the river,” Danny says.

“I healed.” Jackson pitches his voice loud enough that he thinks she’ll hear him.

“I was worried.” Her words are clipped, curt. “Do not disappear again. Danny and Cora seemed determined that you were safe, but you worried me.”

“I’m a wolf,” he points out bluntly. “I can be a wolf. For days at a time. I can eat deer, and rabbits, and tell me what the fuck I should have been here for? Danny’s been fucking Ethan again, you don’t need my help with Stiles now that you’ve got him contained behind bars in Eichen House. I’m allowed to take a vacation.”

“Maybe next time you should text someone first. What about Malia? Does she know you’re safe?”

“Why do you care?” Jackson pushes up one elbow. “You don’t know her. She’s my pack, and she’s stuck in Eichen House as well, which means she’s trapped with a—what? A demonic spirit? I’ll go see her.”

“Stiles might be dying, Jackson.”

Jackson bites his lip because this really isn’t making the situation any better. “You said that before. What did his mother have?”

“Frontotemporal dementia.” He can almost hear the thin smile through the phone. “She lost her mind. It eroded away until she no longer existed, and then she was gone. According to the Sheriff, it was brutal for both of them to lose her that way. He’s not handling the news well.”

“So Stiles is dying, possessed, and trapped in Eichen House. Lovely.” Jackson closes his eyes, feels the way his fingertips are claws without thinking about it. His wolf is begging to come out, but he remembers having different claws. He remembers the tail—the joy of watching prey drop from his poison.

Fuck. “What are they going to do about it?” he asks quietly. “You aren’t going to kill him, are you?”

Silence for a long moment. Danny’s hand falls on Jackson’s thigh, squeezes gently.

“We are not going to kill him.” A long pause, a small huff in Lydia’s voice. “But we need to destroy the nogitsune. Somehow. Deaton is trying to find a way to eject it from Stiles’s body. Then we’ll get him out.”

Another pause, a little longer this time. Jackson’s about to say goodbye when Lydia finally speaks. “Do you want me to tell him you’re here, Jackson? After it’s done? It might help him to talk to you, if he could. He’s done… he’s done some horrible things.”

The shivering starts, and Jackson’s breath hitches in his chest. “Great. Group therapy for formerly possessed evil creatures. Sounds like it would be fucking fantastic. Let me think about that one, Lydia. I’ll get back to you.”

“I think we need to go.” Danny switches the phone off of speaker, holds it up to his ear as Jackson curls on his side. Jackson doesn’t want to listen, so he pulls the pillow over his head, tries to press it against his ear and block out the sound. It muffles Danny’s voice, but he can’t hear a thing from Lydia, which is good. He eventually hears the sound of his phone being dropped on the nightstand, then the bed dips as Danny stretches out behind him.

Danny moves the pillow, and Jackson keeps his eyes tightly closed, trying to will away the memories. Danny locks an arm around his waist, pulls him back tight against him. “You okay?”

Jackson reaches for Danny’s hand, slowly moves it up to place it against his neck. There’s a soft huff of breath behind him as Danny curls his fingers around the collar. Jackson closes his eyes and slowly lets himself relax.

“I don’t need to go anywhere,” Danny says, and Jackson makes a low muttering noise, shrugs one shoulder. That’s good. He doesn’t want Danny to go out right now. He just wants to lie here, because this is one of those rare moments where he feels almost connected. He knows that Danny is right here, that his focus is entirely on Jackson, and Jackson needs that. He needs to hold on to that sensation, to know that no one is letting him drown.

He can’t even imagine how Stiles feels, on his own in Eichen House.

He wonders if they’ve run into each other, if Malia punched Stiles. She’s made her dislike of him plain; Jackson can imagine her doing just that. The image makes him smile slightly.

“So, you and Ethan.” Jackson leaves it at that, doesn’t make a value statement. He’s going to be supportive. He doesn’t like Ethan, but he needs to not be a dick right now. Not if he wants Danny in his life. Because he could risk that, pushing Danny away if he pushes too hard. And he can’t lose Danny. Out of everything in his life, he can’t lose Danny.

“We’re back together.” Danny’s words are slow, a soft, warm breath against the nape of Jackson’s neck. “Do you think other werewolves cuddle as much as you do?”

“Ethan knows I’m here.” Jackson frowns. “He doesn’t know who I actually am, but he knows Kula’s a werewolf. He thinks you don’t know. So he’s not going to be surprised if he smells me on your skin, or in your bed.”

“He’s also not going to tell me about it, apparently. Which means that not all werewolves are as protective as you,” Danny muses. “Which could be an advantage.”

Jackson reaches back, pokes Danny in the hip until Danny catches his hand, holds on long enough to stop him, then lets him go. Danny settles his hand back on the curve of the leather at Jackson’s throat again.

“Ethan’s going to help me get ready for lacrosse,” Danny says quietly. “We’re going over to the field on Sunday, as long as no other crisis comes up. I need to be at the top of my game if I’m going to tend goal against werewolves.”

Jackson’s surprised by the pang this gives him. “I should be the one working with you,” he mumbles.

“If you come back to school, you could play lacrosse. Show Scott how it’s done.” A smile in Danny’s voice, words pressed against his shoulder.

Jackson snorts softly. “Are you trying to lure me back to humanity? Just because I miss playing lacrosse doesn’t mean I’m coming back to high school.”

“Ethan came back for me.”

The words fall heavily, creating a wall between them. Jackson can still feel Danny pressed against his back, the warmth of his mouth when he speaks, but he feels that distance as well. He makes a non-committal noise, shrugs one shoulder.

“That’s what he says. It looks like he came back for Scott, but… he’s in high school. Which he apparently hates. Did you know he makes Aiden take his math classes?” Danny shifts them both, tucks Jackson more comfortably against him.

Jackson laughs, because that’s the right answer to what Danny’s said. “Maybe I’ll work with you sometime when you’re not busy with Ethan,” he says. “You need a werewolf who knows how to shoot. And who isn’t going to distract you.”

“You’ll still manage to distract me somehow, I’m sure.” The words are soft and low. It’s not night, but Danny sounds like he’s relaxing toward sleep, and Jackson wonders if he can follow him down into the dreamlands. Escape for a little while.

“He saved my ass, you know,” Danny says, voice low and careful, and it takes Jackson a moment to catch up to what he’s saying. “Kira and I were out in front—she’s fast. And Ethan tackled me, got me out of the way before we could run into the trap that got coach. He saved me. He’s not out to get me, Jackson.”

Maybe Ethan saved him that once. Maybe he protected Danny then, made sure he stayed alive. But Jackson still remembers when Ethan talked about giving Danny the bite, and he knows that Ethan’s still hiding information from Danny.

On the other hand, anything Jackson says against Ethan is just going to drive the wedge deeper between himself and Danny, and Jackson doesn’t want that. “I’m glad,” he says softly. “I saw, and I’m glad.”

He’s feeling warm and loose, the panic about Stiles held at bay for now. And for this moment, even with the distance, he feels at least physically connected to Danny. He’s loathe to let it go anytime soon. “If you don’t have to be anywhere anytime soon,” Jackson says, “I think I’m going to take a nap.”

“Sounds good,” Danny agrees, and Jackson lets the rhythm of their breath synchronize, and carry him off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and Happy Sunday. Making sure I get this put up before I go on to making more words on the sequel (which is coming along nicely, and of course, turning out to be longer than I had thought/planned). It's a nice, warm, sunny morning here at camp, although we'll be leaving by lunch time or so, after we've done some canning. So much to do because this week we drop my daughter off at university. Eep!
> 
> Thank you all for being here, and for your amazing comments. I appreciate you all so much! <3 and *HUGS*. I will be back with the next part on Sunday, August 28. In the meantime, you can find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com). See you then!


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes for canon events, consent issues, and Jackson taking things into his own hands.

Jackson wakes into the cooling warmth of an empty bed, sprawled across the blankets, a pillow cradled to his chest. He stretches slowly, inhales to taste the lingering scent of Armani in the air while he listens for heartbeats.

None. Everyone’s gone, but the scent is fresh enough that Danny hasn’t been gone long.

Jackson grabs the sheets, pulls them up over his body, wraps them around himself. He burrows into the bed, luxuriating in the space that smells like him and Danny.

A place that doesn’t smell at all like Ethan.

Oh, there are hints of the other wolf’s scent. Probably on the laundry in the closet, but Jackson isn’t going to go looking. He wants to remember how it felt when he lay down, that moment of connectedness with Danny.

He’s been losing that, losing touch with his anchor, and it aches.

He’s hard, and he knows he should get out of bed, go shower and deal with it, but he’s loathe to leave this cocoon. He rolls over on his stomach, feels the press of his dick against the sheets as he slides his hips, his boxers hanging low on his hips. It feels good.

It feels too good, and he ruts again, an idle twist of his hips as he clutches at the pillow, inhales Danny’s scent.

There is no way in fucking hell that he should do this.

But he wants to. He wants to mark this space, to merge their scents, to cover every hint of Ethan with his own rough musk. His hips lift and push again as he fucks down against the bed, breath shuddering in his chest. It won’t take long, and no one would know. No one could know, not unless Danny brings another wolf up here, and he hasn’t. He’s kept this space as Jackson’s, ever since… _fuck_. He rolls his hips again, because Danny hasn’t shared this space, not since the very beginning. He’s let Jackson mark him, let Jackson leave his scent all over, just like he’s leaving it now, rubbing his dick against the sheets as he drips fluid that sticks to the inside of his boxers.

This isn’t going to take long.

Jackson rolls over on his back, shoves his boxers down and kicks them away. He bends one knee, gets a hand under his balls, presses his ass down against the sheets as he strokes his cock with his other hand. He spits in his palm, strokes it along the length of his cock, captures some of the leaking fluid and strokes that along as well. It’s not as wet as he’d like, but fuck, it feels good. And his scent is rising, filling the room, mixed with Danny’s scent. Jackson closes his eyes and imagines the way Danny lies behind him, lips pressed to Jackson’s neck, and he grunts, hips thrusting up, driving his cock through the tight circle of his fingers.

He’s so fucking close.

He rolls his balls in one hand, just this side of rough, lets his finger slide back a little behind them. His hips jerk as he cries out, and he tugs, stroking quickly over the head and back down. He feels it in his thighs, taut and tight as he pushes one foot against the bed, hips bridging up as he orgasms, shooting thick white stripes over his chest, one sticky spot hitting his shoulder.

He lowers his hips slowly, tries to school his breath as he strokes himself through the aftershocks. He spreads his legs, lies there spread-eagled, sticky hand against his chest as it rises and falls.

The room smells better now, like he’s a part of his anchor. It helps, at least a little.

Jackson reaches back behind his head, under the pillow, just to the edge of the mattress, and he wipes his hand there. No one will see the sticky spot, so Jackson can mark this space quietly, leaving the thickness of his scent layered heavily in Danny’s room.

His skin is starting to dry by the time he finally moves, leveraging himself out of bed. He collects the dirty laundry from where it’s strewn around the room, allowing the hoodie they’ve both shared to stay, but making sure everything that has even the smallest scent of Ethan ends up in the basket. He might as well do laundry.

As long as Danny’s dating Ethan, Jackson might as well do laundry every day. He’s not going to let that scent invade his room.

#

Jackson’s phone rings as soon as he’s out of the shower; he spots Derek’s name on the screen and quickly dries his hand so he can answer and put it on speaker. “Yeah?”

“How much have you heard about Stiles?” There’s a tired note in Derek’s voice. Worried. Maybe Jackson should have been talking to him more, keeping a better eye on him like he’d promised Cora he would. He’s just going to have to do his best to try now.

Jackson gives Derek a quick rundown of everything that Lydia and Deaton told him, leaving out the part where Malia is trapped in Eichen House with Stiles. He towels off while he speaks, yanks on human clothes under the assumption that he needs to go out, even if he’s not sure what he’s doing yet.

“The MRI is false.” Derek’s voice is firm, and Jackson wants to ask how Derek knows that for certain, but Derek’s still talking. “The nogitsune is a trickster, and it’s fucking with Stiles’s mind as much as it’s fucking with the rest of us. It loves chaos, so it’ll do anything it can to create chaos and pain. It had Stiles set the trap for Coach, and it had Scott take Coach’s pain, so the nogitsune could take it from Scott.”

That sounds ominous. “How did the nogitsune take it from Scott?” Jackson asks warily.

“With a sword to the gut,” Derek says quietly.

It’s strange to imagine. The idea of Stiles—because it’s still his body, even with the nogitsune controlling him—stabbing Scott in the gut is nearly impossible to conceive. “Fuck,” Jackson whispers. “I’ve been wondering if he knows what’s going on, but if the nogitsune wants to fuck with him, then Stiles knows. He knows what he’s doing, and he just can’t stop it.”

“Did you know?” Derek’s voice is still low, careful.

Jackson makes a small noise. “At the time, no. I had no idea, and I just wanted to know if I was turning into a werewolf and forgetting that. You thought I was dying. I didn’t know I was being used to kill. I didn’t know I hurt my best friend, not until afterward, when I remembered everything. Still do. Still have nightmares about it.”

It’s getting easier to admit to it every time Jackson says it. Like it’s normal, just a part of his life, as if post-kanima PTSD is a thing that other people will understand. His breath hitches slightly, and he forces himself to breathe evenly, in and out in slow motion.

He grabs the phone, takes it off speaker and presses it to his ear as he finally leaves the bathroom. “You’re calling me because I was possessed.”

“Also, Stiles has no idea you’re here, which means the nogitsune has no idea that you’re here. Which means you’re our secret weapon.”

Jackson goes still at the serious tone of Derek’s voice. He stops mid-step, stares at his own reflection in the hallway mirror. “I’m not going to kill him for you, Derek,” he says slowly.

“I don’t want him dead.” There’s a dry, frustrated sound to Derek’s voice. “We are not killing Stiles. It’s not his fucking fault that something possessed him.”

There’s a low pang of hurt twisting in Jackson’s gut, because that’s at least better than before. “Good to know you’ve learned that lesson.”

“I’d like to think we’ve all grown,” Derek says dryly. “I don’t want you to kill him. I want you to find him.”

“He’s at Eichen House.” They just covered this a few minutes ago; Jackson’s positive he told Derek what Deaton had told him.

“Not any longer.”

Jackson’s torn between _good_ , because Malia’s safe now, and _oh shit_ , because the thing that wants chaos and pain is on the loose. “I’ll try to find him.”

“Don’t do anything to him, and don’t let him see you,” Derek tells him. “You need to stay safe. Let us know if you find him, try to herd him somewhere that we can pick him up. We’re all in this, and we can circle him. Take care of bringing him in and getting that thing out of him.”

Jackson reaches for a hoodie, carefully shrugs into it without dislodging the phone. If he has to communicate with other people, he’s going to need to do this while human. “Do you think it’s possible?”

The silence stretches for too long. “I don’t think it’s going to be easy,” Derek says slowly. “But we don’t have another choice, either.”

Jackson makes a noise of agreement, because what else can he do? He disconnects the call and shoves the phone in his pocket, then grabs for his keys. Time to roll the windows down and go for a drive.

#

Derek texts that Stiles was spotted at the school, so Jackson begins there. He walks around until he catches that strange scent that is Stiles, but twisted slightly sideways. His nostrils flare as he inhales, closing his eyes so he can focus in on it. Follow it.

He gets back in the car and fires it up, then waits until he’s sure he can taste Stiles on the wind more than the exhaust fumes from his car. As soon as he’s sure that he can drive and track at the same time, he puts on his blinkers and pulls out.

The car is old and clunky, and Jackson hopes that helps him look vaguely normal as he limps down the road slowly, his blinkers on to warn other drivers that he’s in trouble. One guy passing him slows down, yells out, “Do you need help?” Jackson shakes his head, and the car moves on, racing around him.

Maybe going fifteen miles per hour is excessively slow, but Jackson is able to keep the scent trail, following it down a fairly direct path from the school toward the Stilinski household. The scent grows stronger as Jackson creeps closer, and the destination is obvious.

There are cars in the driveway—the Sheriff’s car, and the Toyota that Derek’s been driving since he got back. Jackson passes the house slowly, catches the concentration of scent, but another trail that leaves again as well. The exhaust of the Jeep, the sharp, acrid scent of Stiles. He was here, yes, but he’s not here anymore.

Jackson pulls off to the side a few houses down, puts the car in park but leaves it running. He grabs his phone, fires off a quick text. _He’s not in the house. The trail keeps going._

 _We know where he is_. Derek’s reply comes quickly, followed by, _we’re going to my loft._

Jackson wants to know what Stiles is doing at Derek’s loft, but he supposes it makes sense. Derek isn’t the alpha any more, but he’s still the adult. He’s still the one who was in charge when all this began, and maybe the nogitsune is getting a sense of power from Stiles.

Or maybe Stiles has some control, and he’s diverting the nogitsune away from Scott, the real Alpha.

 _Be careful,_ Jackson texts. _I think Stiles wants to hurt you. I think he’s going after you instead of Scott_. He pauses after sending it, rereads his words. _It’s the nogitsune. But I think Stiles is trying to send it after you—because you can protect yourself better than Scott._

There’s no reply for a long moment, and Jackson glances at the rearview mirror. He can clearly see the Stilinski driveway and watches as people spill out, climbing into cars. They all start up, but Derek’s pauses before he pulls out.

_We will take care of him. You stay safe._

It’s one last text, then Derek pulls out and drives by Jackson’s car, not even looking at him. It’s a clear _stop looking_ command and _don’t get involved_ and Jackson feels put out. Help, don’t help, sit, stay. He’s not a fucking dog, and Derek doesn’t get to order him around. He’s trying to do something good.

 _Your brother’s a dick_. He presses send on the message before he considers that maybe he doesn’t want to explain all this to Cora.

 _Tell me something I don’t already know,_ she replies, and that’s that, nothing else.

#

Jackson heads home. The house is still empty, so he strips right inside the back door and leaves his clothes in a neat pile on the table. He goes back out on four feet, muzzle raised as he tastes the air. There’s nothing here at Danny’s house, but there must be something he can do. He goes into the woods, follows familiar pathways into the preserve and starts hunting blindly, letting instinct take him where it will.

He catches a scent—far fresher than he’d expect—and shifts directions abruptly to follow it. He doesn’t know what Malia would be doing in the preserve, but given everything else that’s been going on, he’s pretty sure it can’t be for a good reason. He trails the scent as it follows a circuitous pathway through the trees before it emerges into a familiar clearing.

Of course it’s the stump. Everything keeps coming back to the stump.

Jackson is surprised to realize that he smells Stiles here, as well, or rather, that scent that isn’t quite Stiles. It’s thick and heavy in the air, like he’s been here recently, and Jackson sniffs around the stump to make sure he isn’t still here. Not that he’d be able to warn Derek anyway; he has no phone. But Jackson wants to make sure this place is safe.

Because on top of the stump, fast asleep, is Malia.

Her feet are bare, the bottoms filthy and healing. Her jeans are scuffed, her fingernails bitten to the quick. Her hair is in a tangle around her face, and her hands are curled together as if she holds something in her sleep, even though there’s nothing there. Jackson noses at her fingertips, licks at them; Malia mutters in her sleep and rolls away.

He shifts back to human, pokes a finger at her shoulder, then roughly shakes her. Nothing.

Jackson huffs a sigh. He can’t just leave her like this. He’s pretty sure that as far as Malia’s father knows, she’s at Eichen House. As far as anyone knows, she’s safe, which means it’s up to Jackson to protect his packmate. He shifts back to wolf and jumps up on the stump. He lies down facing her, head on his paws, and he watches her sleep.

It’s a strangely soothing moment, his breath synchronizing with her slow exhalations. He almost lets go and sleeps himself, but the scent of not-Stiles, thick and sharp in his nose, helps keep him awake.

There’s a faint buzzing, and Jackson sees a fly land on Malia’s lower lip. He surges up, about to gently bat it away, and it crawls in the corner of her mouth.

She sits up, eyes blazing blue, and Jackson slides off the stump, shifting on the way to the ground. It hurts to scrape against the bark of the roots with his bare ass, but Malia doesn’t seem at all surprised to see him.

“I need to find Stiles,” she says.

“You hate Stiles.” Not to mention that Jackson doesn’t want her anywhere near him, considering what’s going on.

She smiles slightly, a slow smirk that just seems absolutely pleased with herself. “I don’t hate Stiles.” Her words are firm, and she stretches, sliding off the stump. Jackson meets her when she’s standing, but she doesn’t even look at him. “Stiles doesn’t care that I’m a coyote.”

“Stiles isn’t himself right now.” Jackson knows he’s several steps behind on this conversation, but he has to assume that Malia and Stiles ran into each other in Eichen House and something changed. “So whatever you’re thinking, don’t think it.” He doesn’t want to address this, doesn’t want to think about the way her scent is shifting. He can smell the musk, the want, the underlying hope and need.

“Stiles is fine. We talked.” She lifts her head, and Jackson can see the moment that she catches not-Stiles’s scent. She turns and starts walking away. “I’m going to find him. You’ll see.”

“Malia, no.” Jackson grabs at her wrist, and she turns back to him, eyes bright and blue, teeth bared in a snarl although still blunt and human.

“Let go,” she hisses, but when she yanks, Jackson pulls her closer to him, twists to take her down.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but this isn’t you,” he grumbles. “You hate Stiles. You have told me many, many times just how much you hate Stiles. So why the fuck do you want him now?”

She lashes out with her hand, scrapes fingernails across his face. He reaches for her, twists them together until they are lying side by side, her wrists trapped in his hand. “Stiles wants me,” she snarls. “And I want him. Don’t get in the way, Jackson.”

The fly.

Danny had said that Lydia heard buzzing, and they had thought it was something to do with Barrow, but maybe that’s not it. Maybe the nogitsune was already causing trouble then. Maybe the flies belong to the nogitsune, and maybe that one that just crawled into Malia’s mouth is… _fuck_.

“You’re not yourself right now.” Jackson tries to reason with her, lets her go while keeping his hands in the air, just in case.

“I’m going to find Stiles.” Malia twists free, and Jackson’s stomach sinks as she bolts away from him.

This isn’t going to end well. He just has to hope that she forgives him.

He races after her, tackling her and taking her with him tumbling to the ground. He ends up straddling her, and he does the only thing he can think of: he roars.

He knows his eyes flash, and he feels his teeth drop, the fur sprouting on his face. He puts every ounce of _fury_ and _behave_ into the roar, and he knows he wins when she goes limp beneath him, eyes wide and staring up at him. She whines softly, and Jackson quickly moves away, ending up kneeling next to her. He touches her face gently, and she whines again.

“Are you going to go after Stiles?” he asks carefully, because he doesn’t want to hurt her, but he has a feeling that what she wants _now_ and what she is going to want when she hasn’t swallowed a fly are two entirely different things. Not to mention the fact that Stiles is possessed as well, so consent can’t happen on either side.

Her gaze drops away. “No,” she mutters.

Jackson lets his breath out in a rush. “Good.” He’s not sure why it worked, but it _did_ work, and that’s what’s important. He is in no way the Alpha of their little pack, but if he can somehow pull rank in order to keep her safe while she’s… whatever she is… then he’s going to run with it. “Does your dad know you left Eichen House?”

She shakes her head.

Jackson purses his lips. He needs to keep her away from the rest of the pack, and away from Stiles. “Come home with me. You can stay at Danny’s again tonight, and we’ll figure out the rest tomorrow. You’re going to need to go home eventually, but it’s late right now. Unless Eichen House has told your dad that you’re missing, it would be better if you do this in the daylight.”

Malia just blinks at him and nods. “Fine. We’ll go to Danny’s house. Does he have ice cream?”

“We’ll order a pizza, if it’s not too late by the time we get back there.” Because it occurs to Jackson that while he could transform and run there as a wolf, Malia is very much human at the moment. On the other hand, she’s still going to be faster than the average human, and her feet will heal. “I’m going go back to being a wolf,” he tells her, because Jackson is not going to race with his dick hanging out. “I’ll run, you follow me.”

She laughs, softly, the sound building. “We’ll race,” she says. “I can still beat you on two legs.”

“You can try.” Jackson lets himself drop back into his furred form, and barks once, nipping near her heels. She starts running with a shout, and he can taste the shift in her scent from wary and want to joy. He joins her in the race, and it’s almost like when he first found her in the woods, when the first hunted together. He hopes that in some way, no matter how human they have to be, they’ll always be able to find this simplicity when they need it.

Malia stops when they reach the edge of Danny’s property, hesitates before stepping out of the treeline and into the back yard. “Are you sure?” she asks, head tilted as she inhales and makes a face. “Another wolf has been here.”

Jackson inhales and growls softly. Ethan, of course, just around the edges of the property. However, Jackson can’t fault him for wanting to protect Danny, so he lets it go. Instead, he nudges his nose against her calf, then leads the way across the yard to the back door. He barks once, already shifting as the door opens. He feels Malia crowd close to him, peering over his shoulder, as he stands there and Mrs. Mahealani looks at him, her gaze fixed on his face.

“Jackson,” she says softly, and Jackson lowers his hands to cover his crotch.

“This is Malia.” Jackson steps back, nudges Malia so she’ll step forward. “She needs a place to stay tonight, and um—where’d my robe go?” It’s not hanging right inside the door, and Jackson isn’t sure if his clothes are still on the table, either.

There’s a thundering of steps on the stairs, and Danny’s there, holding out a pair of sweats. Malia turns to face Jackson, grinning. “Get dressed,” she says.

“Hah,” Jackson mutters, taking the sweats and pulling them on. “I’m so glad to know you’ve figured out some of our quaint human customs.”

“I thought Malia was….” Danny’s voice trails off.

“She left.” Jackson says, his words echoing with Malia when she says _I left_ at the same time. They glance at each other, and Malia shrugs.

“Jackson said I can’t go find Stiles, so I should stay here tonight,” Malia explains. “Thank you for allowing me to sleep in your home again. The floor should be comfortable.”

Danny grabs Malia’s arm, tugs her inside so that Jackson can follow her and close the door. “We have a guest room, Malia, and you can stay there this time.”

His mother’s eyes are wide, her gaze flicking rapidly from Jackson to Danny to Malia, and back again. “You’ve stayed here before?” Jackson can almost see the train of thought before her gaze narrows quickly. “You’re the coydog.”

“Coyote,” Malia corrects her with a flash of a cautious smile. “My father doesn’t believe me.”

“Yes, well, I doubt your father has had quite the same experiences that we’ve had. Given that this one spends half his time as a wolf, it’s hard to disbelieve what is in front of my own eyes.” Mrs. Mahealani puts an arm around Malia’s shoulders. “It’s good to meet you, and yes, you are welcome to use our guest room. Do we need to call your father?”

“He thinks I’m still at Eichen House,” Malia says, and Mrs. Mahealani’s lips purse.

“We can talk to him in the morning then.”

There’s a dangerous note in her voice, and Jackson almost feels sorry for Mr. Tate. Mrs. Mahealani is a good woman, and she seems to be tempted to take Malia under her wing.

“We should get sleep.” Danny pushes through the others to get his arms around his mother’s shoulders. He hugs her hard, kisses her cheek. “Thank you, Mom. I’ll make sure Malia gets home safely in the morning. We’ll go put fresh sheets on the bed and make sure she has a toothbrush.”

Jackson helps Danny get Malia out of the kitchen and up the stairs. They end up in the guest room, where Malia pokes through the bureau as she finds the scent of Jackson on his clothes that are still stored there. “Don’t you sleep with Danny?” she asks.

“Malia—” Danny cuts off with a sigh. “Yes, Jackson sleeps in my room. Usually as the wolf. So you’re fine sleeping in here tonight. You don’t need to sleep on my floor.”

Jackson catches a whiff of uncertainty.

“But I could sleep on your floor,” Malia says slowly. “It wouldn’t be wrong.”

“It would confuse the hell out of Danny’s mother,” Jackson tells her. He sits on the bed, lies back and invites her to lie down with him. She curls into his side, and Jackson motions for Danny to join them. “She understands that you were the coyote, but she doesn’t understand exactly how long you were the coyote. She thinks you’re like me, or like McCall. Someone who just started being like this recently.”

Malia sniffs. “It was simpler as a coyote.”

“Yeah, it was.” Jackson can’t dispute that it was all easier on four legs rather than on two. But as Kula he didn’t have the same friendship with Danny, and he wouldn’t be lying here with both his pack in bed with him, Danny’s hand on Jackson’s chest. “But being human isn’t bad, Malia. You’ll get used to it.”

“We should watch a movie,” Malia suggests.

“Which—let me guess—is code for _go get the popcorn_ ,” Danny says dryly, and Jackson laughs. He rolls out of the bedand heads downstairs as Danny shows Malia to his room so they can set up a movie. Jackson keeps one ear cocked on their conversation while he pops a big bowl of popcorn, and he gives Mrs. Mahealani one last kiss on the cheek (and a thank you) before he heads back upstairs.

This isn’t what he went looking for when he left the house, and he knows there are still plenty of things unresolved, but for the moment, it’s good. Malia seems settled, despite the fly, and Jackson’s surrounded by pack.

They’ll deal with the rest of the shit tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, there's that. This was one of my favorite chapters to write, and I really hope you enjoyed it. I'd been dying to write the opening scene with Jackson for a long time before I got here and it was the right time. And I'd been thinking a lot about Eichen House and Malia, and some of that comes through here as well.
> 
> I hope you're having a good weekend. Thank you to everyone for being here, for reading, and for your lovely comments!! The next part will post on Sunday, September 4th, and will coincide with the posting of the first part of my new original series (Welcome to PHU) on tumblr. Come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com) for more information about both fic and original work, and feel free to chat with me there, too! Love to all of you.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say that this chapter happens to contain some of my favorite scenes.

Jackson rolls over in the empty space next to him, pats the warmth and whines softly.

“Don’t whine at me.”

Jackson blinks, rubs the sleep away from his eyes. Danny’s already dressed, hair damp, skin smelling of soap and Armani cologne. “Where are you going?” His voice is rough with sleep, and he sees Danny’s gaze drop. Jackson shifts, pulls the blankets down to cover his hips, and lets the cool air drift over his naked torso to help wake him up.

“School.” Danny stretches as he pulls his shirt over his head, tugs it down and into place.

Which makes no sense as an answer. “It’s Sunday.”

“And I’m trying to convince Ethan to join the lacrosse team.” Danny grins, checks his hair in the mirror. “If half the team happens to be made up of werewolves, he should join in the fun. Besides, if he shoots, I’ll get some practice tending goal against supernatural speed.”

“I’m faster,” Jackson points out.

“You’re not going back to school.” Danny sits on the edge of the bed. “And I don’t think either of us are ready for you to try to play nice socially with Ethan. Besides, you need to take Malia home, right? She was still sleeping when I got out of the shower.”

Jackson can’t deny the point, but at the same time, this is Ethan. He opens his mouth, and Danny claps a hand over it.

“Not a word against Ethan,” Danny says quietly. “We are not having this argument.”

“Who’s Ethan?” Malia leans against the doorway, head tilted.

“My boyfriend.” Danny pushes to his feet. “Who I am going to be late to meet if I don’t get out of here. My parents are here, Jackson. Get dressed before you leave the room.”

“I’m wearing boxers,” Jackson mutters.

Malia leans in, grips Danny’s shoulder as he goes to pass by. “You smell like Jackson.”

Danny’s expression eases, quirks into a fond smile. “Jackson is determined to scent mark me, I think. And he washes everything that smells like Ethan.”

“Smart.” Malia nods approvingly. “I agree with Jackson. You already have him. You don’t need Ethan.”

“It’s not like that.” Danny puts his hands on her shoulders, rotates them both so that she ends up in the room while he exits. “I’ll see you later, Jackson. I’m only going to be gone a few hours. Depends on whether we get distracted.”

“He’s talking about sex,” Malia says sagely, and Jackson snorts to hide the fact that he’s still reeling from the fact that Danny noticed how often he does the laundry.

“I’m aware, Malia. Trust me, I’m aware.” Jackson shoves the sheets down and swings his feet out of the bed. He starts to stand up, but she’s in his space, nostrils flared as she inhales, and he remembers exactly what he did recently in this bed. He reaches up, pushes at her shoulders. “We’re in human mode, Malia. Personal space.”

She makes a noise and rolls her eyes. “I’m a coyote in human skin. I don’t care that you’re naked, and I don’t care if his bed smells like you. But he did tell you to get dressed.”

Which Jackson plans to do. He grabs sweats, yanking them up to his hips. “We always wear clothes when we’re in human skin, Malia. We’ve had this conversation.”

“I don’t wear clothes sometimes when there’s no one else in the house,” she admits. “Is that bad?”

“As long as the curtains are closed and no one can see you, no,” Jackson tells her. “It’s nice to have the house to yourself, right? To feel like you can just be?”

She sighs and smiles happily. “Exactly. I would rather have fur, but naked is better than clothes.”

He should probably shower, but it won’t take long to get breakfast and drop Malia off. He can take care of the rest after he’s done with that. “Come on. Let’s get breakfast. I think there are still waffles in the freezer.”

“Waffles?” Malia trails after him curiously. “I haven’t had waffles since….” She blinks. “Are they the ones you toast?”

Jackson imagines that it’s been a very long time for her. He figures they’ll go through a box, and maybe he’ll stop at the store on the way back after dropping her off and replace them. He eats more than Danny does, and he keeps trying to buy food so the Mahealanis don’t go broke trying to support a teenage boy and a werewolf at the same time.

He’s halfway down the steps when he realizes that Malia has stopped only two steps down. He turns slowly to look at her. “Malia?”

She blinks, and shakes her head, frowning.

“Is something wrong?” Because this doesn’t look right. Not as bad as last night, but definitely not right, either. “There aren’t any protections in the house. No mountain ash. You can come and go as you want.”

She shakes her head again, and there’s a creak where her fingers press into the wooden rail.

Jackson can’t read her mind, but he can feel the swift rush of anxiety rising in the air. He has no idea what’s wrong or what set her off, but she’s frozen, waiting to kick into fight or flight, and he doesn’t know how to fix it. “Malia,” he says softly, and her gaze snaps to him.

“I have to go.” She unfreezes and runs down the stairs, pushing past him hard enough to send him into the wall and leave him breathless for a moment from the impact. He hears voices, then the slam of a door, and oh crap, she’s just _gone_.

Jackson leaps out, lands in a crouch at the base of the stairs. He rushes into the kitchen, and both of Danny’s parents are there, staring at him.

“Is something wrong?” Mrs. Mahealani asks.

“I don’t know,” Jackson tells her. “But she just got scared and ran. I don’t know why.” He crosses the kitchen, pushes the door open. She’s already gone from his view, but he can try to follow her scent if it doesn’t fade. He refuses to look back over his shoulder, shoving his sweats and boxers down in one push as he mutters an apology. The scent of embarrassment rises quickly, and he hears Mrs. Mahealani as he bolts through the door.

“If he’s staying, I suppose we have to get used to it.”

“Can he be trained like a puppy?” Mr. Mahealani asks.

Jackson growls as he races away; he doesn’t need to hear the rest of the conversation. And _no_ , he is not a puppy, damn it.

Malia’s scent trail is clear into the woods, but it becomes muddled quickly, mixed with the older scents from the night before. The old scent still lingers, surprisingly strong, and Jackson finds himself turned around. But now that he’s in the woods, he knows there aren’t many places that she’s likely to go.

He lopes past the old den, which still reeks of stale piss and makes his eyes burn. He heads further into the woods from there, surprised when it’s easy to find his way back to the stump again. Malia’s scent is strong, but she’s not anywhere around.

Jackson shifts back to human to look around the stump, searching for any possible indication that Malia has been here recently. A fly buzzes around his head, and he swats at it, irritated. When another one comes, he knows it’s time to leave; after last night, he doesn’t trust them at all. He shifts back to the wolf, and races off, leaving the flies behind.

His last path takes him to Malia’s home. He doesn’t catch a fresh scent here, but it’s the most logical place for her to go. He paces at the edge of her property, hears her father’s voice from within the house. He can’t hear the words, but there’s anger in his tone and frustration. Either Malia’s being yelled at, or he’s angry at Eichen House. Either way, Jackson can’t help here, and he slowly walks out of the woods and down the driveway, heading for the street.

Jackson starts circling slowly away from Malia’s house, creating paths through the roads, searching for any direction she might approach from. He pauses as he lopes when he hears a familiar engine, and he sits down to watch a car go by.

Lydia. He whuffs, but she doesn’t pause, and Aiden doesn’t look out the window.

Jackson doubts that Lydia’s going to lead him to Malia, but at the same time, she’s going to lead him somewhere if he follows. He lopes along behind her, but he’s not moving fast enough to stay with the car. He makes it to the corner where she turned right, and he stops, because she’s already out of view.

He can still hear the car.

He turns slowly, and Lydia’s car emerges down the way, turning right onto the street, following the exact same path as it did before. She’s doing laps, circling the area. It doesn’t make any sense.

He pushes his speed, still not quite able to keep up, but managing to see as she circles the block one more time then abruptly pulls into an empty parking lot.

Jackson has no idea how he missed the scent of Stiles before, when it’s so obvious now. He lies there in the middle of the empty lot, crumpled and broken, his scent still acrid and off. Lydia and Aiden emerge from the car, and stop, staring down at him.

“Get him in the car,” Lydia orders, and she hurries back to the driver’s seat, heels clicking on the pavement. Aiden pulls open the door and carefully puts Stiles in. Jackson considers jumping in after him, but that wouldn’t be helpful. He follows at a safe distance, pushing his speed until he realizes that they’re driving towards McCall’s house.

Jackson slows down, pauses long enough to breathe. He can’t find Malia, but he knows where Stiles is. He’s pretty sure Malia’s better this morning, but Stiles definitely doesn’t look or smell right at all. Jackson glances back the way he came, considers going back to Malia’s place one more time, or perhaps back to Danny’s to try texting her.

Then he starts moving through the streets, heading for Scott’s place. Malia will be fine. Stiles needs help, and Jackson needs to make sure no one is planning on killing him on the way to getting rid of the nogitsune.

#

There are voices inside the house, including Scott and Aiden; Jackson doesn’t want to risk getting too close where they might catch his scent. The last thing he needs is to distract Scott with a scent that he might recognize. Instead, Jackson lingers near the corners, hides near a bush and tries to overhear the conversation.

“He’s healing,” Deaton says, and Jackson shudders at the implications. Stiles is no longer simply human. He’s something else, something supernatural. He might not be Stiles anymore at all.

“That’s good, right?” Scott says, and Jackson whuffs softly.

“For the nogitsune, yes,” Deaton tells him. “For us, probably not. We cannot destroy what we cannot harm, after all.”

“We’re not killing Stiles.” Scott’s voice is firm. “We have options. We’ll figure out a way to fix this.”

“If we’re not killing him, then shouldn’t we be tying him down with big chains or something?” Aiden’s voice has a small quiver in it, and Jackson would like to think he can scent fear from the wolf. He smirks inwardly. That’s not going to impress Lydia at all.

“I have something more effective.”

Silence for a long moment, then the sharp sounds of shouts and a scuffle. Jackson can differentiate the breathing—Scott’s angry huffs, and Aiden’s fearful, quick breaths.

“Kanima venom. Nice touch.”

It’s Stiles’s voice, except it’s not at all the same. The right tenor, the right pitch. But not the right tone. The words shiver through Jackson, and he knows that wherever Stiles is in that mind, he’s not speaking with them right now. That is purely the nogitsune.

He misses something—he must, because the door crashes open and Aiden races out, running down the street without looking back. Jackson stands and barks sharply, but Aiden doesn’t even pause. He sits back on his haunches, uncertain whether he should go after the werewolf, or stay here where Lydia is sequestered with a possessed Stiles.

“I’m just going to step outside for a moment.” A pause, and Lydia’s voice is dry when she adds, “I’ll be fine, Scott. I just need some air.”

She emerges from the front and walks past Jackson, heading into the back yard. He gets up and pads after her, knowing that she heard him and spotted him. In the back, she heads straight for the ancient swing, out of easy view from the house. She sits down on the ground, and Jackson curls up next to her, his head in her lap.

Her fingers trail through his ruff, scritching behind his ears.

“We need to talk,” she whispers, voice so low that Jackson would never hear her if it weren’t for supernaturally enhanced senses. “There is something very important that you need to know—that I need to tell you—but this is not the time for me. Right now, we need to focus on helping Stiles, and to do that, I need Peter’s help.”

She leans back, lets the leg of the swingset take her weight. She doesn’t say anything for a long while and that’s okay with Jackson. He leans up, licks at her chin, and she swats at him lightly. “I’m dating Aiden, and I don’t french dogs,” she says. “Besides, you’re getting your scent all over me already. Prada will probably have a fit.” Her voice is still carefully low, and Jackson leans into her, trying to give comfort with his weight.

“The thing is, I am going to need to tell someone a part of this secret.” She catches a good spot under his chin, scratches it lightly. “We need Peter’s help, and this is the only coin I have to trade.”

 _Peter_.

Jackson growls, lifting the corner of his lip to bare his teeth. Peter has already used Lydia once, and he doesn’t trust the man. Will never trust the man, no matter how much he happens to be a part of Derek’s pack.

“I’m sorry,” Lydia whispers. She wraps her arm around him and buries her face in his ruff as she holds on. Jackson nuzzles her, whines to try to tell her not to trust Peter. “I know,” she says. “I don’t trust him either, and that’s why I’m not telling him everything.” She lets go of him and carefully unfolds herself, ends up crouching and eye to eye with Jackson. “I promise, when this is over, I will explain everything to you. And then you can do with it what you will. But for now, I need you to trust me.”

She stands and carefully smoothes her skirt. She brushes grass and twigs from the fabric, then walks away without looking back.

When Peter arrives, Jackson trails around the house until he hears a window open, and Lydia’s voice float clearly into the air, despite the hushed tones. He settles beneath the window, leans in close and listens.

“So tell me, what do you have to offer?” Peter’s voice is lazy, but Jackson smells the sharp interest in his scent, hears the way tension twists his words taut.

“I will give you the name of your child.” Lydia speaks carefully and quietly. “I have two conditions. One, you will help us. You will help Scott get into Stiles’s mind, and we will get him out of there safely. And two, you will not let Scott know. She deserves to have the chance to be seen as a person in her own right, not as your child before anything else.”

“I have a daughter.” The words breathe out, then a soft hiss of an inhalation, and it seems as if Peter’s holding that breath. “Tell me,” he finally says.

A pause, then Lydia’s voice is tight. “When we’re done. You help us first, then I will give you her name. But not until you’ve held up your part of the bargain.”

“Very well.”

Footsteps move back to the living room, and Jackson follows it. His mind is racing, trying to figure out why this impacts him. Why Lydia had to tell him about this secret, why it matters to him if Peter has a daughter that he doesn’t know.

He needs to know.

He hunkers down outside the house, keeps his ears tuned to the sounds inside. He’s obviously come into the middle of a conversation, as Scott asks, “What if this is just another trick?”

Peter’s voice is dry, responding, “When are you people going to start trusting me?”

A low gasp, then silence. Only silence, for a very long time, the rasp of breathing loud to Jackson’s ears.

“Is it working?” Melissa’s voice, concerned.

“Quite possibly too well.” Deaton’s tone is as mild as ever. Jackson can hear Melissa’s elevated heart rate, the sound of movement as Deaton chastises, “No. You have to let this run its course. You cannot wake her before it is time.”

What the fuck is Lydia doing?

“Lydia, can you hear me?” Peter calls out, voice rising with every word. “Lydia, you are stronger than this. Lydia!”

More silence, heavy breathing, and the quick pitterpat of Melissa’s rapid heart. Then a sharp gasp, and Lydia asking, “Did it work? Why didn’t it work?”

Peter’s voice is low. “This is not science, Lydia, it’s the supernatural. It’s hardly consistent or direct.” A short pause, and Jackson can almost hear the smile as Peter whispers, “I did my part. Now give me my name.”

It’s barely a whisper, and Jackson knows that if he weren’t waiting for it, if he weren’t perfectly tuned in to Lydia’s voice, Jackson would never have heard it. As it is, he has to replay the one word in his mind, be certain that he heard correctly.

“Malia.”

This is only part of the secret, only part of what Lydia has to tell Jackson. And this is the part that she freely gave away, bartered so that Peter would help them. But why does Jackson care? She’s his packmate. He definitely doesn’t want Peter to be anywhere near Malia; she’s too fresh and new, too easy to warp right now as she relearns what it means to be human.

But that wouldn’t be something Lydia would hide from him. It’s personal, but it’s not _personal_.

Peter has a child, and he had no idea who they were.

What if Peter had more than one child?

Jackson falls back against the house, abruptly human, the ground pricking his skin. His lungs are tight.

It sounds like Peter asked Lydia to find his child. What if Lydia found Malia and someone else?

It’s not possible. It’s certainly not _probable_.

And if it were true, wouldn’t he have been a werewolf to start?

Maybe that’s why he’s broken. Maybe that’s what went wrong, why it was so easy for the kanima to take hold. Because he already had the genes, but they failed to make him into a wolf in the first place. Maybe he’s finally right now, what he always should have been.

Shit.

This isn’t possible.

This can’t be happening.

Maybe it’s not true.

He needs to talk to Lydia. Jackson needs the truth, not these half-formed suppositions and possibilities. He needs to know what she found out.

“Lydia!” The door slams open as Scott screams. He yells it again, and again, and Jackson hears commotion in the house, voices asking where she went, how she disappeared. And among them, Jackson hears Stiles— _Stiles_ , not the nogitsune, the acrid scent gone and replaced by something utterly exhausted and weak.

Jackson doesn’t know what happened, but if it means Lydia’s somehow gone, he’s going to find her first and deal with Stiles’s situation after that. He rolls to his knees and finds his wolf as quickly as he can, racing down the street. He has no idea where her scent is, but he’ll find it, and he’ll find her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, I am determined to bring together the plot that I think was lost in canon. I hope y'all enjoyed this week's installment, and that you are having a great weekend! I'm deep in the midst of finishing the outline for the sequel (which is about half way to completed right now) as well as enjoying a long weekend full of productive domestic things as well. And my original series launched! Check out [my tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com) if you want more information about that, or if you just want to chat about fandom, writing, or anything else! The next part of this story will post on Sunday, September 11. See you then!!


	31. Chapter 31

Jackson circles out from the house, trying to find some trace of Lydia’s scent. He should be able to find it—she didn’t just disappear into thin air. But somehow she left Scott’s house and there’s no trace of her that Jackson can find.

He spirals out, making sure to check every route that Lydia could have taken, but there’s nothing.

Nothing.

Lydia’s gone and this time, Jackson’s helpless to do anything about it.

“She’s with Stiles.”

He turns with a soft growl, spotting Malia sitting on the back steps of someone’s house. Her hair is tangled, her fingernails dark with dirt and her feet bare and filthy from running. Malia tilts her head, and her eyes flare blue. “You’re looking for Lydia,” she says, as if it’s somehow obvious. “She’s with Stiles. I don’t like her.”

There are so many things wrong with that statement, Jackson doesn’t even know where to begin. He steps out of the road, into the shade of a bush before he transforms back to human. “Stiles is back at Scott’s house. He’s fine now.”

Malia stands up, stalking closer to Jackson, and he’s quickly reminded of the way she seemed so out of sorts the night before, her scent still slightly off. “Stiles,” she says carefully, “has taken Lydia somewhere. He’s with _Lydia_ , not me.”

“Why do you even care?”

Malia opens her mouth, snaps it closed again, momentarily confused. “It doesn’t matter. Stiles is my friend now, and he deserves better than her.”

“Don’t say a thing against Lydia.” It’s like pack fighting with pack, as far as Jackson is concerned. Malia purses her lips and glares at him, and Jackson reaches out, closes the distance between them and squeezes her shoulder. “She’s pack, Malia. Like you, like Danny.”

“Stiles is my pack.” Malia’s hand comes up abruptly, pushes at Jackson’s grip, shoving him away. She approaches him, stalking like a wild animal. Jackson manages to get his hands between them, but he doesn’t want a repeat of the night before.

“Malia, something’s wrong. Your eyes.” They haven’t stopped glowing, and it’s disturbing to look at. “I think you need to see Deaton, and I know where he is.”

“No.” She pulls back quickly. “I need to find Stiles. Come with me. You can have Lydia.”

“Stiles is back at Scott’s house,” Jackson repeats. “You’re not listening to me. Malia.” She takes a few steps, starts to run, quickly accelerating. Fuck. “Malia!” He drops to all fours, running on wolf feet before he hits the ground.

She’s fast, but he’s faster, and he tackles her. They both hit the ground rolling, and Malia coughs. Her body spasms, and she pushes back, ending up on hands and knees, body bowed as she keeps coughing. Jackson shifts back to human, pounds on her back and watches as a fly is ejected from her throat, lands on the ground.

He reaches out and squishes it with his thumb.

Well, fuck, that explains things. He doesn’t know if it’s the same one as before, or if it’s somehow a new one, but he’s pretty sure now that the nogitsune is playing games.

She leans back on her heels, blinks confusedly at him. “What’s going on?”

“The nogitsune—which I’m pretty sure is not inside Stiles now—is using you as a distraction.” It seems obvious now. Jackson could think that it did it for entertainment, but now whatever tiny hint of Lydia’s scent he might have caught seems gone. “I was trying to find Lydia before it did something to her, and we might be too late.”

She licks her lips and her gaze falls. Jackson can almost see the process working behind her eyes, and he wonders how much of the last twenty-four hours she remembers. “I can help you find her if she’s with Stiles,” Malia says slowly.

“I think she’s with the nogitsune, but if you remember what Stiles smelled like in Eichen House, that’s pretty much it,” Jackson admits. “He smells off. Wrong. If it were the real Stiles, he couldn’t have gotten her away so quickly.”

Malia looks up at him finally, and he smells remorse and frustration, tinged with a hint of anger. Her cheeks are spotted with red, and she pushes at her hair, grumbling when her fingers tangle in a snarl. “So we go back to Scott’s house and we start again,” she says firmly. “We’ll find them together.”

It might not be the best plan, but it’s the best one they’ve got. Jackson nods, and as Kula, he leads the way back to Scott’s place. It’s quiet now, and he realizes just how much time has passed since he raced off. It worries him that Lydia is out there, and there’s nothing he can do, and he doesn’t have anyone to talk to about it. His allies are Danny, Lydia, and Cora. Maybe Derek. But he needs to get his hands on his phone in order to do anything, which would mean giving up and heading home.

He’s not ready to do that yet.

“I smell Stiles, but it’s not right.” Malia calls out, probably too loudly for the neighborhood, but Jackson can’t do anything but whuff at her in annoyance. He trots to her side and inhales.

It’s Stiles. It’s pure Stiles, threaded through with exhaustion, but without the acrid scent that Jackson now thinks of as the nogitsune. It’s also the best lead they’ve got.

Jackson just barks again, lifts his head and sniffs, then starts following the trail. They work together, finding themselves winding their way downtown to the Sheriff’s station, and there’s still no trace of Lydia.

“This isn’t working.” Malia sits down on the front steps of the station, winding her fingers in Jackson’s fur when he sits next to her. “I don’t know what Lydia smells like. Do you smell her?” Jackson shakes his head, whuffs, and Malia nods like she understands. “And Stiles smells strange. Is it Stiles or the nogitsune?”

Jackson tilts his head because he needs a yes/no question if she really thinks he’s going to answer.

“Stiles?” She says, and Jackson whuffs, nods. “And the person I met in Eichen House was the nogitsune.” It’s not a question, and Jackson can see that she’s processing the information. He whuffs again, even though there might have been something of Stiles there. They thought it was Stiles they were imprisoning, but obviously he was the nogitsune by the time he left, and he has no idea which one Malia interacted with.

Either way, Stiles was possessed the entire time.

“I’m going home. I don’t like this.” Malia pushes to her feet, and Jackson goes with her, trailing after her for several steps down the sidewalk. She stops and looks down at him, frowning. “Alone. I’m going home alone. Don’t worry, I feel like me now. I’m okay.”

There’s still a low scent of anxiety and irritation, and Jackson whines at her until she crouches down and runs her fingers through the fur on the top of his head. “You wanted me to talk to my dad,” she says quietly. “I’m going to go talk to my dad.”

He can’t really argue with that point, so he just barks softly and nods his head before watching her jog away.

There isn’t really much Jackson can do here, either. He sees the Sheriff walk out with Stiles and Scott, but unless he races after the car, there’s no way he’ll be able to keep up. He just watches them leave, barks when Stiles glances over at him.

At this point he’s getting nowhere. He might as well just go home.

#

The upper hallway is filled with the scent of hot water and fresh soap, strong enough that Jackson doesn’t need to be Kula to smell it. There’s still a faint hint of steam from the open bathroom door, and when Jackson pushes into Danny’s room, he finds Danny lying back on the bed clad only in sweats. His hair is still wet, curling over his forehead, and he grins easily to see Jackson.

“Good practice?” Jackson asks dryly. He closes the door and shucks out of his robe, digging into a drawer to find a pair of boxers before Danny chastises him.

“Not bad. Ethan doesn’t know lacrosse, but he could learn, and he’s got the speed any werewolf has. We could use him on the team.” Danny pushes up on his elbows. “I’m going to mention it to Coach.”

Jackson has his back to Danny, and he stops as he gets the boxers in place, tension in his shoulders. “Sounds great. At the rate you’re going, you’ll be the only human on an all werewolf team. Think he can control the killer instinct?”

“Think they’d be asking the same questions of you if you came back to play?”

Jackson turns on his heel, lips curled in a snarl. “Different situation, remember? I didn’t have a choice. He did. Has he tried explaining it all to you yet, and spun some kind of sob story? Or are you still waiting for him to come out as fanged and furry?”

It’s funny how Ethan poked at the fact that Jackson’s living with Danny without telling him the truth. At least Jackson’s not leading him on— _fucking_ him—without saying a word about the supernatural.

He can smell the anger, sees the way Danny’s entire body goes taut. “New topic,” Danny says tightly. “I had a good morning. How about you?”

It’s only been a day. That was this morning that they woke up, that Malia ran away, that Jackson followed Lydia to the nogitsune and then to the McCall house. Shit. “Not at all,” Jackson says. He grabs the chair, sinks into it slowly, needing to just let go of the tension that simmers under his skin. “Lydia’s missing.” It’s starting at the end of the story, but it’s the most important part right now. He can work backwards from there. Oh, wait, no, there’s one more important part. “And Stiles is….” No, _back_ isn’t the right word. “I think there might be two of him.”

Danny leans up on his elbow. “I have definitely missed part of this story. Do we need to go out and look for Lydia?”

Jackson shakes his head, the weight of the day bearing down on his shoulders now that he’s finally stopped moving. “I’ve already looked everywhere. I can’t catch her scent, and when I tried to follow Stiles, I ended up with the wrong one. I want to talk to Cora and Derek, see if they know anything. I—” He cuts off abruptly because he wants to talk to Lydia, to his liaison within the pack. “Shit.”

Danny hitches himself back on the bed, shoves his pillow behind his back and lies there with one leg bent, the other splayed. “Come here.” Jackson hesitates, and Danny leans forward, pats the space between his legs. “I said _come here_.”

Jackson rises slowly, crawls onto the bed and carefully situates himself into the space Danny has left for him. He eases his way back until Danny hooks one arm around his waist and tugs, fitting him comfortably and encouraging Jackson to lie back, his head against Danny’s shoulder.

The warmth is good. The strength, the stability, the solidity—it’s all good and necessary, and it eases Jackson’s breath. “Thanks.”

“Mm.” Danny slides a hand up Jackson’s arm, digs his thumb into the meat of his shoulder. His fingers brush the collar as if by accident, and Jackson sighs, tilting his head to give Danny all the access he might want. “Start at the beginning,” Danny tells him. “What happened after I left?”

Jackson shifts his hips, tries to get more comfortable in the cradle of Danny’s legs. He closes his eyes as he speaks, telling Danny about how Malia ran off, and spotting Lydia’s car going in circles. He hesitates when he gets to the part where Lydia came out to speak to him, decides to save that part for later, skipping ahead to Lydia making a deal with Peter, and that something happened that he missed. “Somehow we ended up with two of Stiles. One of them took off with Lydia—Malia either saw them or smelled them, but couldn’t keep up—and one of them was with Scott and the Sheriff. The one with Scott smells like Stiles. Exhausted, sick maybe, but I think it actually is Stiles.”

Danny’s fingers go still; Jackson can almost hear him thinking. “…That’s a new way to end a possession.”

“Yeah. Somehow they made the nogitsune corporeal all on its own. And it has Lydia.” Jackson touches his hip, realizes that his pants are across the room and he’s not even sure where he left his phone since he left wearing fur earlier. Danny twists behind him, presses his phone into his hand, and Jackson murmurs his thanks. He thumbs it open, types a quick text to Cora and a separate one to Derek, each saying the same thing: _Any news?_

Danny’s hand settles at Jackson’s shoulder again, sliding down to cradle the curve of his throat. “Why would a demon want Lydia?”

“Maybe it wants a banshee,” Jackson mutters, staring at his phone. “Or maybe there’s still something of Stiles in it, and he wants Lydia. He’s been crushing on her since the third grade.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s moved on from that.”

Jackson twists his head, finds himself nose to nose with Danny. “Just because he’s crushing on you doesn’t mean he’s stopped crushing on her. I’m pretty sure Stilinski will take whatever he can get.”

“Thanks for implying that he only wants sex from me,” Danny mutters, leaning his chin on Jackson’s shoulder.

“I don’t think he knows what he wants.”

“I don’t think it matters, if he’s been possessed,” Danny says dryly, as Jackson’s phone vibrates.

 _Should there be news? No one’s talking to me. Haven’t heard from Derek in days_.

Jackson frowns at the phone, because it’s easier to think about Cora’s comment than it is to think about the aftermath of being possessed. _Lydia’s missing. We’re looking for her. I’ll try to talk to Derek._

 _Let me know what happens_.

It’s a dead end, especially with Derek silent. Jackson sighs, drops the phone onto the bed next to his hip, and lets himself lean into Danny again. “I want to go look for her, but I don’t even know where to start.”

“She’s your pack, you want to protect her.” Danny’s voice is low, carefully even; Jackson can feel the rumble of it against his back. “You love her.”

Love is such a fucking complicated word. “It’s not like it was,” Jackson says quietly. “We were… we weren’t very good for each other. I’d walk through hell to save her right now if I could—if I had any idea how to do that—but it’s not because of who we are together. She’s pack, you’re right. She’s a part of my life. But it’s not like that, not any more. She’s not my anchor.”

Silence then, and Jackson can feel the wheels spinning in the fresh tension in Danny’s body. He gives it a moment, barely two breaths, to see if Danny is going to say something, then he forges onward. “Lydia told me something before she disappeared.”

The tension doesn’t fade. “Oh?”

“She told me she had a secret, and that she had to tell Peter part of it to get him to help, and that she’d tell me the rest later.” Jackson chews over the words in his mind, because if anyone can dig more deeply into this situation, it’s Danny. “From what I overheard, Peter asked her to find his child, and she told him that her name is Malia.” He gives Danny a moment to process that, then nudges him slightly with one elbow when there’s no response.

“What does that have to do with you? Other than Malia being your pack and Peter being a creep.” Danny’s hand slides down Jackson’s arm, stops at his wrist.

“If that’s only part of the secret, what’s the other half?” Jackson feels the twist in his gut at the thought, the same thrust of nerves that he had the first time the thought flitted through his head. “Danny, what if my birth mother… what if she… do you think there’s any way of finding that out?”

“Short of a paternity test?” Danny’s fingers go tight around Jackson’s wrist. “Do you think you and Malia are full siblings?”

That doesn’t sound right, doesn’t feel right to his inner wolf. He shakes his head. “Half, maybe. Before the fire, maybe Peter was some kind of playboy. And maybe he screwed up twice and never knew until now.”

“But he’s found out something,” Danny says slowly. “And he asked Lydia to get the information.”

“And Lydia figured it out. She doesn’t have any loyalty to Malia.”

“But she does have loyalty to you.” Danny leans into Jackson’s shoulder, head tilted to press against Jackson’s before he turns to press his mouth against Jackson’s throat. “We can find out, Jackson. If Peter’s your father, we’ll find out.”

Having the words dropped into the air like that makes them real. Makes it a possibility. Makes it so Jackson can think about how that would make Derek and Cora his cousins. Malia might be his sister. Jackson’s known for a long time that his parents aren’t his _real_ parents, and he’s never had an inkling that there might be someone else out there who was related to him by blood. It’s possible that the Hales and Malia might be his family by blood.

And he might have a crazy, creepy father, but he can ignore that. Jackson’s good at ignoring fathers by now.

“When this is done and we have time, yes,” Jackson says. “I need to talk to Malia about it. We can tackle it together.”

“And if he is your father?”

Jackson bites his lip. “We’ll figure it out then. I don’t really need another loser father in my life. One is plenty. And it really sounds like Peter’s the same kind if he was sleeping with two different women at the same time, and seriously enough to get them both pregnant.”

“One step at a time then.” Danny twists, and Jackson goes with him, letting Danny arrange them so that they’re lying on the bed with Jackson tucked against Danny as the little spoon. “If you can get something from him for testing—blood, a hair with the root attached, skin—that would help. I’ll look into what it takes to get the test done, and whether we can do it without getting names involved. Between the Hale name, your trust fund, and the splash Malia made coming back from the dead, we really need to keep this out of the news.”

Because Danny’s always two steps ahead, and always watching out for Jackson. Warmth coils in his gut, and he huffs a sigh. “Thank you.” Jackson has no idea what he did to get Danny in his life—God knows he doesn’t deserve him—but he’s thankful that he’s here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday! Thank you all for being here, for reading, and for commenting; I adore you all. I just want to issue a reminder that this story follows canon through the end of 3B. That's all events, everything that happened in 3B, it will happen here. So prepare yourselves for the ride. The next chapter will be posted on Sunday, September 18. See you then, and until then you can find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	32. Chapter 32

Jackson lounges in bed after Danny leaves for school. He skins out of his boxers and just lies there, eyes closed, naked on the sheets, listening to the sounds of an empty house. The faint creaks, the calls of birds outside, the way the water clanks in the pipes when the toilet in the downstairs bathroom randomly starts running. It’s peaceful, even if he can’t fall back asleep, the sun pricking at his eyes where Danny cruelly left the blinds open.

The knock at the back door isn’t part of the usual routine.

Jackson drags on a pair of sweats, shoves his phone in the pocket, and heads down the stairs, inhaling the air and listening for the heartbeat of whoever is on the other side of the door. He opens it just a crack, and Malia pushes through. The door closes with a thump in her wake before Jackson stops pushing on it, turning to face her where she stands at the fridge, the freezer door already open.

“We should have the waffles,” she says, sifting through things until she finds the right box. She pulls it out and wiggles it in the air, grinning at Jackson. “Make eggs,” she says. “I’m good with a toaster.”

It’s not how he expected to spend his morning, but it could be worse. Malia goes through every cabinet until she manages to find the plates, then she hunts for a knife, and digs the butter out of the fridge. She’s methodical as she carefully toasts the entire box of waffles, watching them and sniffing at them to make sure they’re perfectly browned.

She’s cleaned up since yesterday. Her hair is freshly washed, the shampoo smelling of lavender and vanilla. She leans into him, watching as he scrambles eight eggs. He slows down enough to show her how he whisks them first, then the right temperature for the pan, and how he folds them quickly as they cook to keep them fluffy.

“Has your dad been teaching you how to cook?” He glances over at her and she pulls away, carries the plate of waffles to the kitchen table. She picks one up and starts to take it apart with her fingers, licking the melted butter from the fingertips after she eats each bite.

She shakes her head. “My mom was teaching me. Before.” She licks her lips, shoves the rest of the waffle in her mouth whole and chews and swallows before she speaks again. “I used to make eggs on Saturday morning for my sister. While my parents slept. Eggs and muffins from a mix that was in a box. Now I eat cereal. It’s easy.”

“I’ll teach you.” Jackson turns off the heat and divides the eggs between two plates. He hands her one, and gestures toward the table, then grabs silverware for both of them. Once he’s set down his own plate, it’s back to the fridge so he can dig out the four different flavors of syrup that he knows are hiding somewhere in there. Mrs. Mahealani is the only person he’s ever seen use butter pecan syrup, but Jackson has to admit he likes the blueberry syrup, and the elderberry isn’t that bad. Nothing’s as good as real maple syrup, though.

He offers them each to Malia along with a second plate, and smiles slightly whens she pours a small pile of each flavor, then dips bites of waffle in each so she can taste them. She reaches for the blueberry when she’s done, and drowns the rest of her waffles in that one flavor. Her lips press together and she glares at Jackson when he snickers.

“It’s my favorite,” she grumbles. “I like sweet things.”

“Try ice cream on waffles one of these days,” Jackson suggests, gesturing with a forkful of waffle. “Sweet and crunchy and good.”

“With syrup,” Malia decides, and she tucks into her meal. Jackson isn’t sure what he thinks about the way the blueberry syrup has surrounded her eggs, but Malia doesn’t seem to mind, eating all of it with gusto.

He takes his time with his own food, observing her. He inhales quietly, trying to tease apart her scent, break it down into the components that have nothing to do with the fabrics she’s wearing, or her shampoo, or her soap. He wants to understand the pieces that are natural to Malia, and try to match them to himself, see if he can catch any similarities.

He doesn’t even know if siblings—or partial siblings—smell alike, but it seems like a good place to start.

She finishes eating, wipes away a stripe of syrup from the corner of her mouth with her hand, and looks up at Jackson. Her eyes are wide—they’re brown, not blue—and her mouth is open slightly. “What?”

Her cheekbones are high but nowhere near as sharp, and her face is softer, more round. Her hair, though, is almost exactly the same shade of pale brown that’s almost a dark blonde, as if it’s been lightened in the sun. She doesn’t have his freckles.

He could see being mistaken for siblings, but he can’t see a perfect resemblance. It’s like finding a resemblance between strangers, and it doesn’t get him any closer to understanding Lydia’s cryptic message. He shakes his head, waves a hand in the air to negate the moment of silence. “Nothing. Just thinking about Lydia.” It’s true enough that his heart stays steady.

Malia pushes her plate away. “Are we going to go look for her?”

Jackson wants to say yes, but he has no more idea where to look than he did last night, so he shakes his head. “Until someone texts me back and tells me what I can do to help, I’m stuck. I couldn’t find her scent, and every time I tried looking for Stiles, I found the one that seems normal, not the one that’s possessed.” He grabs her plate and drops it into the sink with his own. “Why don’t we watch a movie instead?”

Her gaze narrows, and her nostrils flare. He knows she’s trying to figure out something in his scent, but he has no idea what she’s looking for, so he just waits. “Satisfied?” he asks, when she relaxes.

“No. But I’m cold, and you’ll get a blanket and meet me on the couch,” she says.

Malia is curled up in the corner of the couch when he gets there and drops a blanket on her knees. She leans into his shoulder, tugs the blanket over both of them, and it’s almost overwhelmingly hot. “You’re warm,” she says, her head on his shoulder.

“Usually, yes. I think it’s part of being a werewolf.” He cocks his head, frowning as he looks at her. “Aren’t you usually warm?”

Malia shakes her head, her hair tickling the side of his face. “Not since I came back from being a coyote. I have a therapist. She says the coyote is my guilt, not who I used to be. She thinks I’m dissociating.” Malia makes a face, and Jackson wonders if it’s a word she understands or not. “I looked it up—there are good things on the internet. It means she thinks I think I’m two people. She’s right. It’s like I was a different person when I was the coyote. It feels far away.”

Jackson is pretty sure that’s not what the therapist means, or not entirely, but he doesn’t want to try to fix something he doesn’t think needs fixing anyway. “Do you think she’d say something different if she believed in the supernatural?”

“She knows I feel bad.” Malia shivers, presses closer to Jackson and he drops an arm around her shoulders for added warmth. “I almost ate my mother and my sister. I remember them looking at me. My mother’s eyes were so wide and scared; her face was soft and round. Sometimes I look in the mirror in the middle of the night and I remember the fear, and the way she smelled.”

“Was she afraid of you, or the car crash?” It seems like a logical question, but the look Malia gives him make him thinks he shouldn’t have asked it.

“Me,” Malia says, her tone flat. “It was a full moon, and I was nine years old, and I changed into a coyote. I told her I felt funny, that my skin felt like it was trying to crawl off my body, and she said we’d be home soon. My sister poked me with her doll, and I yelled at her to stop touching me. I started scratching at my hands, and there was fur there, and I screamed.” She stops speaking, buries her face against Jackson’s shoulder, and her words are muffled after that. “That’s when my mother crashed the car. We rolled it, and my sister’s face was cracked. I smelled blood, and I felt my teeth grow, and then everything hurt. Then I was furry and on four legs, and everything I knew said I should eat them. They were hurt, they were going to die, and I should eat them.”

“Did you?”

She’s silent for a long time. “Almost. My sister died, and the coyote was hungry. I didn’t know who she was then—I was just the coyote. I didn’t realize it until after. I didn’t know why I was so torn about these two creatures that were just prey. But my mother looked so afraid, and her eyes seemed so familiar. I bit my sister, and my mother yelled, and I ran. I just ran away and I… I knew something was missing. I remembered more later, when it wasn’t the full moon anymore.”

“You had your sister’s doll.” Jackson rubs her shoulder, feels the way she’s shivering against him as she speaks. He gets it, though, the way it’s so hard to hold it all in, but also so impossible to tell it this bluntly.

She nods. “Exactly. They were my pack. I needed to have something.”

Jackson nods, because he gets it. He really does. He rearranges the blanket again, makes sure it’s tucked in around Malia. “I didn’t remember anything I did until after I died,” he says quietly. “When I was the kanima, I killed people, but I had no idea. I was walking around being me most of the time, then part of the time I was this murderous lizard that was being controlled by someone else. But after I died, and came back as a werewolf, I remembered everything. I remembered using my venom to paralyze my own best friend.”

“Danny?”

“Danny,” Jackson confirms. “I remember stopping once, because it just didn’t seem right to attack someone. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t supposed to, maybe it was something else. I realized later that it was Stiles.”

“Stiles is pack.”

Jackson pulls away from Malia so he can give her a sharp look. “No. Stilinski isn’t pack.”

“He’s mine, so he’s yours.” Malia resolutely grabs his arm, pulls him close again. “He’s going to have Scott help me be a coyote again. Since you can’t figure out how to teach me.”

“Scott’s never been an actual wolf,” Jackson says dryly. “I don’t think he’s going to be able to help you much.”

“He’s an Alpha.”

Maybe she has a point there. Maybe Scott can howl her back into coyote form the same way he howled her out of it. But Jackson honestly doesn’t think it’s going to be that simple. And he’s not going to be part of McCall’s pack. “When were you talking to Stiles about Scott anyway?”

“In Eichen House.” She sits up, turns on the couch to face him and wraps herself up in the blanket. “I’m warmer now. Stiles told me that Scott should be my pack, since I need a pack. I tried to tell him that I already have one, but he didn’t understand. He said all the wolves in Beacon Hills are with Scott.”

“Not exactly. I’m not sure the Hales are exactly _with_ Scott. More like allied.” Jackson makes a face. “Friendly packs that work together.”

“We can be that then.”

“You realize that you were probably talking to the nogitsune when Stiles was in Eichen House, right?” Jackson tries to keep his voice gentle as Malia’s brows furrow. “Deaton thought he was Stiles when he went in, but he was definitely the nogitsune when he broke out. I don’t know which one you talked to.”

“If Scott’s the Alpha, and I join his pack, does it really matter?” she asks, and in the end, Jackson supposes it doesn’t. He shrugs, and she smiles as if she’s won the point. “I don’t have to join his pack if you don’t think I should. We can be allies. But….” Her voice trails off, and her head tilts. Jackson has no idea where she was about to shift to for a new topic.

“What?”

“I’m going to go to school, I think. And Scott’s there, but you’re not,” Malia points out. “I don’t know Scott, and I don’t trust him yet. I trust _you_ , but are you going to be there?”

Jackson opens his mouth because this is twice now. Danny and Malia, both of them asking him to go back. “I wasn’t planning on it,” he admits, and Malia grumbles.

She nudges him with her toe. “You should be there. We’re pack. We stick together, so you should be there with me.”

Just the idea of setting foot back inside those walls as a student is enough to chill Jackson’s gut. He shudders, and Malia reaches out with the blanket, spills it over his knees.

“It’s funny,” she says. “I’m cold because I’m not a coyote. You get cold when you think about seeing people.”

He wonders if it’s true, if they both feel a chill for different reasons that are still similarly psychological. “I’ve seen plenty of people. I talk to Lydia, and Cora, and Derek. You,” he points out.

“I’m pack.” She leans forward, rubs his foot. “It’s okay. I’ll go to school without you. Or maybe you’ll change your mind.”

Jackson’s phone buzzes, and he digs his phone out of his pocket.

_There was a girl from Eichen House in Economics._

Jackson frowns at the phone, and Malia leans over to read the text. “Oh, who?” she asks, taking his phone from him to type in, _who hi its malia_.

An emoji comes back with a hand waving, and Malia grins at the phone.

_Meredith. People from Eichen House are coming to get her. She says she hears people screaming, because someone is going to die._

A chill washes over Jackson, and he takes back the phone. _That sounds a lot like Lydia and being a banshee_.

“Meredith always talks to people who aren’t there,” Malia says.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Jackson mutters. _Danny, follow her. Are they coming to get her?_

 _Hang on_.

Jackson glances at Malia while he waits for Danny to get back to him. “You knew Meredith when you were at Eichen House?”

“Not well. I don’t know who she was talking to.” Malia snorts softly. “That makes three people who’ve left Eichen House recently. It’s not a very good place to keep anyone safe.”

“It’s not a good place at all,” Jackson mutters. “And I don’t think keeping people safe is their goal. We’ve all heard of it, and only the people who can’t get better get sent there. The people that meds won’t help. The people that other people are afraid of.”

Silence.

“Like me.” Malia’s voice is low and small, and Jackson looks over at her.

Shit. “Your dad didn’t put you there because he was afraid of you,” he says, knowing she can hear the lie in his heartbeat. He can’t be sure that’s exactly why Tate did it, but it’s probably why. “And he’s not sending you back now. So even if he was afraid before, he’s not now.”

 _She’s gone. She disappeared before the people got here_.

Jackson tilts the phone so Malia can see it. “Meredith’s gone. And this is just one more thing that leads back to Eichen House in all of this, and I think I’m going to go over and check it out. Do you want to come with me?”

She hesitates, then leans back and tilts her head. “If we’re going outside, you need clothes.”

He can catch the anxious scent, and he leans in, presses his cheek to hers. “You’ll be safe there, I promise. We’re going as pack.”

“Why?” Malia follows him up the stairs, only stops outside his bedroom when he gestures for her to wait while he changes. She calls through the crack in the door. “Why are we going to Eichen House? You said Meredith isn’t there.”

“But she left there,” Jackson says. He pulls on a hoodie over his t-shirt, zips it up and shoves his keys in his pocket. “And think about it. What happens when there’s something dangerous in the woods? What do all the creatures do?” He pulls open the door and looks at her, and he remembers the early days after they’d just met.

“When they feel anxious, they run away,” she says slowly, and Jackson nods.

“Exactly. Which means there’s a reason for people to leave Eichen House. Which also means there might be a reason that we should go there, to find out why,” Jackson explains.

Malia wrinkles her nose. “There was a reason why I left,” she says, but that doesn’t stop her from following him down to the car.

Malia is quiet on the way to Eichen House, her fingers resting atop her knees, lightly tapping. The scent of anxiety swirls in the car, growing stronger the closer they get to the place. As Jackson pulls up in front of the gate, Malia shakes her head. “I can’t,” she says quietly. “I can’t go back in there.”

“Wait here for me,” Jackson tells her. “I’ll drive you home after, but I need to go in there right now.” When she gives him a dubious look, he explains, “Gut feeling.”

She huffs a sigh. “If you need my help, howl.”

Jackson nods. He moves the car to park it out of sight, then quickly strips from his clothes and leaves them on the driver’s seat. He closes the door and falls to his knees, letting the change come quickly. He already has his head lifted, scenting the breeze, as the change finalizes, and he catches the scent easily.

Lydia.

Not in Eichen House, but nearby. Close enough that he can smell her, and smell her fear and anger. Close enough that he can get to her. He barks softly, and lopes away to follow his nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is your reminder that this story will follow all canon events of season 3b through to the end. All of them. And we're getting very close to the point where it gets rough, so please be prepared. There are only four more chapters to post after this one! Eek! I can't believe we're almost done.
> 
> The last chapter of this story will post on Sunday, October 16. The first chapter of the sequel will post on that same day (it needs to). So be ready for a chaotic slide into the ending, okay?
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read, kudosed, commented. You are all amazing and brilliant and I love you so much! <3333 
> 
> The next chapter will post on Sunday, September 25. See you then!!


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter follows canon. At the very beginning, season 3b canon events happen within this chapter, including those surrounding Allison. Please be aware. If you search for "there's something I need to do" you can move past the specific event and go on with the story.

Jackson quickly realizes that Eichen House is one building that remains standing as a part of an old complex. He has no idea where he is, but he traipses through ruined places, seeking the source of Lydia’s scent. He follows her and an acrid odor that reminds him of what Stiles smelled like until recently, muzzle curling when the acrid scent grows stronger and he smells the hint of car exhaust and pitched anxiety mixed in. When he hears the sound of fighting, he starts to run, following the sounds until he emerges into a battle that makes him immediately duck back out of the way again.

Those are the Oni.

Those are the things that were hunting in the shadows, and now they are fighting Allison, Isaac, and a girl that Jackson doesn’t recognize. The stranger seems competent, keeping two of the Oni at bay with her sword. Allison is firing arrows rapidly, but none of them are getting through, as if the Oni somehow have an invisible shield around them. Or are, perhaps, simply invincible, as the one girl’s sword cuts through them but seems to do no actual damage.

Isaac is picked up and thrown, but Allison is there to protect him, beating the Oni across the face with her bow. Jackson whines, takes a step forward, but pauses, uncertain how to enter the fray.

He hesitates, and Isaac is slashed across the gut.

The Oni slashes at Isaac repeatedly, and Jackson crouches, readies himself to rush forward, pauses when he sees Allison nock her bow. He hesitates again, not wanting to run between her and the Oni, and is vindicated when the arrow finally strikes true. It drives deep into the Oni’s chest, and he hears her heartbeat tick up as something tiny and bright emerges, and the Oni disappears.

Allison has made the first kill.

There’s a quick swell of victory in the scent all around him, then an iron-bright splash of blood over everything as another Oni drives its sword through Allison’s gut.

She drops from the blade like a rag doll, caught by Scott as he dashes from the nearby building, just in time to cradle her in his arms.

The rest of the Oni disappear, and the acrid scent that helped lead Jackson here is gone.

He failed to find Lydia. He failed to help them fight.

He failed to protect anyone.

He doesn’t listen in on Scott’s whispered conversation. He can hear that there are words, but he shuts his mind down, refuses to process them. He can’t ignore the anguish on the breeze, the thick taste of sorrow and fear and blood. He tastes regret in the air, and a hint of anger blended with a thick wrapping of pain and jealousy and hurt.

Then Lydia screams.

Allison’s name strikes through him, makes him stumble backwards, landing on human hands and feet, buck naked in the shadows in the ruins. It twists around his heart and grabs on, leaving him panting with fear and sorrow, tears running down his face. He cries in silent gulps, his chest aching in the aftermath, and he knows—he _knows_ —that Allison is gone.

Another person is dead. Someone he knew, someone he cared about. Someone who was a friend once.

She’s dead, and he didn’t do anything about it. He hesitated to join the fight. He hid from her sight when he should have stepped forward. He shouldn’t have cared whether they saw him. He should have jumped in. He should have helped.

He should have saved Allison’s life. He should have protected Lydia.

Her voice fades from the air, a ringing silence in its wake. His ears hurt and he shakes his head, tries to transform back to the wolf. He can’t focus enough to bring fur to his skin, so he scrambles to his feet, leans against a wall to get his bearings.

And he runs. He can’t do anything, so he runs away, runs back to Malia, tries to erase the image of Allison’s limp body from his mind. He can still hear Scott’s cries, can hear the way Chris Argent asks what happened, tries to assimilate this senseless death. He can feel the thickness in the air as grief rises. The nogitsune must be thrilled to know it caused this much pain.

Jackson can’t stay there, can’t witness it, can’t feel it. He can’t process it, can’t hold it in, can’t let it out. He stumbles across the grounds, tries to keep to the shadows until he reaches his car and yanks the door open.

“Jackson?” Malia leans across but he slashes the air with his hand, shakes his head. He doesn’t have words in his mind or the breath to speak them with.

They need to go.

He grabs his clothes with shaking hands and struggles to dress himself, and in the end he doesn’t bother with more than his boxers and jeans. He shoves the rest in the back seat, then twists the key to turn the car on. The rumble is loudlike a growl, and he needs to shut it out. He leaves the car in park, presses his hands to his ears, and takes shuddering breaths to get past the next few moments.

One breath at a time. One moment at a time.

Allison is dead and Jackson is alive and it somehow just doesn’t seem right that way.

“Jackson?” Malia’s touch is light on his hand, and he lowers it away from his ear, glances over at her. Her eyes are bright in the half-light, and her brow furrows as she surveys him. Her fingers brush across his own furrowed brow. “What happened?”

“Someone died,” he says curtly, and she drops her hand away.

“Oh.”

It takes him a moment to realize what she’s thinking, and he shakes his head quickly. “Not my fault,” he says, except… “Partly my fault. I should’ve done something, and I didn’t. I’m not the one who killed her, but I might have been able to help her.”

“Or maybe not,” Malia tells him, and Jackson can make himself admit aloud that she might be right.

It’s easy to say the words, but nowhere near as easy to believe them. He has new fodder for his nightmares: the image of Allison dropping into Scott’s arms, limp and lifeless, blood spilling out with that thick, metallic scent. It doesn’t matter that no one else will blame him—they never saw him. He knows he was there and that he was helpless.

He’ll still feel the guilt.

“There’s something I need to do.” Jackson takes a deep breath and puts the car in drive. It rumbles as he pulls out of the shadows, finds his way back to the road. The muffler is loud and probably needs replacing, and it struggles sometimes to shift when he goes over 25MPH. He’s wondering if he’s going to have to replace his junker already, or get it fixed, and it’s funny to think that he’d miss it. This beat up old car is a part of his new life. His new self.

It’s broken and still going, and it’s his.

“Where are we going?” Malia settles back against her seat, puts on her seatbelt and Jackson tells her to. She keeps watching him and in that three-quarter profile, her eyes shine from the moonlight. She’s not shifting, but Jackson still swears he sees a hint of blue in the brown, and he wonders if that’s just wishful thinking as he looks for a link between them.

“We’re pack,” he says quietly, because he’s never had blood. He’s always had his fractured family that never quite worked, and he’s had Danny and Lydia. Pack is something new, possibly an opportunity for blood family, but most importantly, it’s something he’s built himself. “You can be pack with anyone else—I don’t care if you want to go get Stiles’s scent all over you, even if I can’t figure out why you would—but _we_ are pack. Right?”

“I’m not going to leave you, Jackson. We’re pack.” Malia’s hand covers his, her fingers wrap around his wrist and hold on tightly. “Why?”

“I need you to make sure I don’t drown.” He pulls into the school parking lot, parks across three spaces because he just doesn’t care. He jumps out of the car, leaves the clothes behind because right now they don’t matter. It’s dark and late and there’s no one else here.

Malia follows him more slowly, her face lifted, nostrils flared. “Why here? You don’t want to go to school.”

“There’s a pool.” Jackson slams the doors closed, makes sure his car is locked, because it might be a shitbox but it’s still his. “I was here with Danny and Lydia, and it didn’t work. I jumped into a river and I almost fucking drowned, Malia. I used to be captain of the fucking swim team, and now I can barely convince myself to take a bath instead of a shower.” He heads around to the door he managed to pop open before, and of course it pops open just as easily as the last time. No one ever bothers fixing anything around here. Why would they, when some supernatural crap is probably just going to break it again?

He gestures for her to go in first, then follows. “My head is fucked up. The kanima fucked with me, because the person who was controlling me drowned. He couldn’t swim, and he drowned, and someone saved him. But he hated water, and he hated everyone who was there when he drowned, and he made me kill them. But that didn’t change the fact that he hated water and in his eyes, water hated him. It was waiting for him. It was there, ready to suck him back under and kill him all over again.”

When they get to the pool, he stands at the edge, toes curling over the ceramic tile. His breath is heavy in his chest as he looks down at the smooth water, and he crosses his arms over his bare chest, suddenly cold despite the heavy chlorinated humidity all around him.

Malia stands next to him, her head cocked, brow creased in a faint frown. “What now?”

“I’m broken,” he says, and he undoes the button of his jeans, stopping with the fly open. “I’m broken, and I fucked up tonight, and I should have done things differently. I can’t fix what I did tonight, but I can fix me. I am going to have new nightmares about Allison, but I can make the ones that belong to _me_ go away. I can make them invalid.”

“You still killed people,” Malia says practically, and Jackson shoots her a look. She spreads her hands. “It’s true.”

He sucks in a breath through too-tight lungs. She’s right. Of course she’s right. “It’s true,” he agrees. “I still killed people. I still have blood on my hands. But that was because someone else controlled me. Someone forced me to do those things, and I need to remember that I am not him.”

Jackson shoves his jeans and boxers down, steps out of them and tosses them out of the way of any splashing. “This is his fear, not mine, and I need to get myself back,” he says quietly. “I need to be me.”

He falls into Kula’s shape, welcoming the warmth of fur and the comfort of four feet. He sits back on his haunches and barks once, then shuffles back from the edge.

He is the wolf, and the wolf is him. And he’s going to fucking well do this right.

Jackson races forward and leaps out over the water. There’s a moment where he can see it below him, then he’s falling through the surface with a splash. The water closes over his head, and everything goes dark as he closes his eyes against it. He wants to breath, to open his snout and suck the water in. He wants to howl his distress.

This fear is not him.

This is not _him_.

He pushes up, breaks through the surface and paddles with his paws, finding a rhythm that keeps him afloat. There’s water in his ruff, and he shakes his head, spraying droplets everywhere as he sucks in a deep breath.

He’s swimming. He’s in the water, and he’s not going under. Kula is paddling like a dog, but it’s keeping him above the water and he won’t let himself drown.

He barks cheerily, manages to get himself turned around and heading back toward the edge where he left Malia. He gets a glimpse of her stripped down to bra and panties, then there’s a splash and she’s in the water too, yelping at the cold. She paddles awkwardly toward him with a grin.

“I’m dressed,” she says proudly, and splashes him.

There will be plenty of time later to explain the difference between bikini and underwear to Malia; for now Jackson has to admit that he’s impressed that she’s not skinny dipping. Instead he treads water toward her, dips his muzzle under the water and shakes his head to splash her, while she splashes him again in return.

She laughs, and it’s a sharp counterpoint to the sorrow that twists around his chest.

She does it again, and he barks out a canine laugh, stopping almost as soon as he starts. She paddles closer, hooks an arm around him and nuzzles in close.

“People die,” she says softly. “Were they weak?”

Jackson shakes his head, rubbing his muzzle against her cheek. Allison was anything but weak.

“Then they fought.” Malia nods sagely, and he supposes in her world there are only two options: fight or die. “And they fought well.”

It’s true. Allison killed one of those things and probably saved Isaac’s life, but she gave her own. It’s hard to assimilate right now, and Jackson pushes the thought away, shaking his head and pushing off to paddle across the pool.

He hears his phone chime, then ring almost immediately after. He looks over at Malia, and she sighs. “You don’t have hands,” she grumbles, “although you _could_.” She hitches herself out of the pool and when Jackson yells for her to dry her hands, she wipes them on his sweats before picking up the phone. She cocks her head at it, then touches the screen and holds it up. “Hello? Oh. Hi. We’re at the pool. Of course the one at the school. Okay.” She touches the phone and sets it back down before she runs back to the pool and leaps out to plunge into the water with a huge splash.

Jackson paddles to the edge before he shifts back to human. He reels to feel water over human limbs, but he survived as Kula, he can survive this. He fights the sense memory to remind himself that the water isn’t pulling him down, it’s buoying him up. He founders before he manages to get his feet down in the shallow end, one hand on the edge of the pool.

He’s not drowning. He’s okay, he can do this.

Malia is watching him from a distance, paddling to keep herself afloat.

“Who was that?” Jackson doesn’t know what to expect after the evening he had. Derek wasn’t at that battle; he has no idea where the rest of the pack is, and maybe he should contact them, let them know he’s okay. Or maybe they’re still in the midst of something and no one will respond.

Maybe this is the right place to be right now, getting his head screwed back on the way it belongs.

“Danny.” Malia swims a little closer. “He’s coming. Maybe you should get dressed.”

“You have an obsession with clothes,” Jackson mutters, even though she’s right.

“You told me I have to think about it,” Malia counters. “Humans have rules. They are silly rules, but still rules, and Danny always tells you to get dressed.”

“I can wait until he gets here.” Because Jackson doesn’t want to get out just yet. He doesn’t want to give up this thing that feels like he can control something, like he’s done one thing right. He doesn’t want to let go of the joy that comes with knowing that he can swim again.

He rolls over onto his back, idly backstroking the length of the pool.

“You like it when he sees you naked,” Malia calls out, and Jackson holds up his middle finger. He knows she has no idea what it means, and that’s not what matters. He’s just not going to dignify her statement with any kind of an actual response.

He starts doing laps: backstroke followed by fly, a few lengths of the crawl to cool down before he starts on the breaststroke. He’s at the far end of the pool when the door slams open, and he stops and twists around to see Danny approach the edge, and crouch down, staring at Jackson.

“Get dressed, Jackson,” Malia calls out, and Jackson rolls his eyes.

He does his best fly back to the end of the pool where Danny waits, and pauses there, looking up.

“You’re in the water.”

Jackson splashes him. “Great observation. Yes, I’m in the water. And I’m alive.” Which is the best part, that he’s alive. He’s survived, and he’s come full circle, and he’s back in the place where he belongs, stronger and better than ever. “Get in.”

Danny walks away, shucks his clothes down to his boxers and leaves them in a pile on top of Jackson’s sweats. When he returns, he hands Jackson’s boxers to him and simply raises one eyebrow, waiting while Jackson struggles to get dressed while still standing in the shallow end. Then Danny slips in slowly, looks at where Malia floats off to the side, and back to where Jackson stands. “What changed?”

Jackson manages to get a hand up in a clear _stop_ gesture before Malia can say a word. “I don’t want to talk about it, not now. I just want to swim until I can’t swim anymore, and I want to be alive, and I want to celebrate that I’ve gotten one piece of myself back.”

He tries to remain in place while Danny looks at him, but the water ripples as he moves a step back. He knows Danny can’t smell the exhaustion and the anger and the worry, but it still feels sometimes like Danny can get under his skin in a way that no one else can. And when Danny closes the distance between them and pulls him in, Jackson lets him. He lets Danny tuck him up against his body, fit them together from toes to chest, and Jackson exhales and tries to relax. Danny’s fingers slide over his back, hand flat as he draws circles, moving up with each concentric motion until his fingertips graze the collar. Jackson’s breath catches, and Danny carefully tucks his fingers under the collar and pulls as Jackson lets his head fall forward, eyes closed as he rests against Danny’s shoulder.

Jackson feels the ripple in the water, the small huff of a laugh before a wave of water splashes over them. Malia smirks and swims away, and Jackson glances at Danny, who raises one eyebrow in return.

It’s not fair when they both come after Jackson, not fair at all. This is his pack, and Danny was his friend first. That means Danny should be on his side.

They make him laugh until his sides ache, until Jackson convinces Malia to switch sides and they both go after Danny. He leaves them in the shallow end eventually, Danny sitting on the edge of the pool while Malia paddles in the water and they talk. Jackson can’t hear the words muffled by water as he swims laps, back and forth across the pool until his arms ache and his legs feel like jelly. He finally floats to a stop, arms on the edge, and pushes the water out of his face.

He shifts back to Kula and scrabbles his way out of the water, leaving the boxers behind, floating in the water. He spreads his four feet and shakes his body, spraying water everywhere. He aches in a good way, exhaustion blanking his mind, and he pads over to a dry space and curls up.

It isn’t comfortable, but somehow they all arrange themselves so that Jackson becomes the pillow for both Malia and Danny.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” Danny murmurs, and Jackson whuffs because he knows Danny expects an answer. That doesn’t meant the answer is yes. He’s not sure when he’ll be ready to talk about Allison, because it’s not something he can fix.

At least, for now, he’s fixed one small part of himself. It’s a step forward, finally moving in the right direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, we're very close to done with the season (and the book!). Only three more chapters after this one! Thank you so much for being here for this long ride, and I hope you'll be along for the sequel as well (Jackson's life will, of course, continue to turn upside down a bit there, too). Thank you for all the support and comments; you are all awesome. Take care, and see you for the next chapter on Sunday, October 2. Until then, you can find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: More following of canon. Yes, there is one more canon-compliant death coming.

Jackson wakes slowly, not sure how long he’s slept, only knowing that he’s warm and comfortable, curled around Danny and Malia. Danny is holding onto him like a stuffed animal, and Malia lies curled toward him, his muzzle on her shoulder. He opens his eyes slowly, inhales the scent of roses and sneezes softly. Malia blinks at him and rolls away, rubbing at her eyes, her hand pressing down into the snow.

 _Snow_.

Jackson barks softly, twists to come to his feet and nose at Danny until he moves. Snow falls softly from the sky, chilling his skin where it falls despite the warmth that Jackson still feels from sleep. The light is wrong, the skylights invisible, only a heavily clouded sky above them.

“Where are we?” Danny scoops up snow in his palm, tries to pack it and lets it fall through his fingers like soft powder when it refuses to stay together.

“School,” Malia says firmly. “We didn’t leave. The pool is over there.”

They all look where she points, but there is only a rose thicket, heavily scented, the branches bowing under the weight of the flowers. No water, no chlorine. No heavily humid air, just the thick scent of perfume that makes his nose itch. He quickly burrows close to Danny and inhales the familiar Armani.

“Down, boy.” Danny puts his hands on Jackson’s shoulders and pushes him back, just enough to clear the distance between them. “We may have fallen asleep at the pool, Malia, but this sure as fuck doesn’t look like we’re there now.”

She purses her lips, nose wrinkled in a frown. “We didn’t get up and walk away while we were sleeping. How would we have moved? I don’t see the pool, but it has to be there. We’re in the school.”

“Do you smell the pool?” Jackson asks, tone sharp, as he shifts to human and rolls to his feet. “No. Something’s wrong.”

“I didn’t say something’s not wrong,” Malia protests. “There’s a garden in the pool. It changed when we slept.”

“Or we’re still dreaming,” Danny suggests. He looks around, kicks at the ground to send snow everywhere. “It’s definitely getting colder the longer we stand here, though.”

Which isn’t good, considering no one got dressed after swimming, and out of all of them, only Jackson can make himself have fur. Danny’s skin is goose-pimpled around his boxers, and Malia has her arms crossed over her chest as she bounces a little on bare feet.

“Then we need to get out of here,” Jackson says. “And we need to not freeze to death or fall in the pool while we’re doing that.”

“Might be nice to know what happened,” Danny says dryly. “Or should we just chalk it up to Beacon Hills?”

“I think this is weird even for Beacon Hills,” Jackson responds. “I’m going in fur. We should hold onto each other—I don’t trust this not to get even weirder.”

They both nod, and shuffle closer to Jackson as he changes. Danny links fingers with Malia, then holds onto Jackson’s collar with his other hand.

“Is school always like this?” Malia asks, and Danny snorts softly.

“No, not usually. More yelling, more boredom, a lot more people hiding in corners to make out. But it doesn’t usually snow indoors.” Danny’s fingers tighten slightly around the collar, and Jackson whuffs at the tugging until Danny loosens his grip. “Sometimes there’s dying.”

Malia nods. “That’s what happens,” she says quietly. “You have to be strong to survive.”

“Interestingly enough, you’re not the first person to say that to me recently.”

Jackson pauses to nose at Danny’s feet, making sure they aren’t too cold, or going white from frostbite. He’s not happy with the situation, but with their clothes missing, there isn’t much that he can do about it. He can hear voices somewhere in the distance, so obviously someone else is trapped in here with them, and maybe they know more about what’s going on than Jackson does. He lifts his nose, tries to catch a scent on the air as he follows the sound.

He thinks it might be Lydia. Her and Scott and Stiles and someone else, although that acrid, thick scent is back as well, all around them. Jackson buries his nose in the snow, sneezes it away as it stings his nostrils when he inhales. Unpleasant.

He whuffs once, shifts direction toward the clang of metal on metal. That’s where they need to go.

The hand on his collar shivers, and Jackson stops again, turning to look back at Danny, head tilted. He noses closer, whuffs, worried, and Danny shakes his head. “I’m okay. It’s cold, but I’ll be fine. We need to get out of here.”

“I smell Stiles.” Malia pushes forward, lets go of Danny and crouches down next to Jackson. “I smell Stiles and Lydia. And the other Stiles, too. We should go to them.”

Jackson just gives her a look, licks her nose because damn it, he’s _trying_ to get there. He pulls her forward, and they stumble on through the snow. The ringing sound of metal on metal is louder, but the shouts are still indistinct.

It’s like trying to get anywhere through a dream.

Wait.

Jackson stops, shifts and comes fluidly to his feet at the same time. “You know that thing when you’re in a dream and everything is either right on top of you no matter how fast you run—”

“Or never gets any closer, no matter how hard you run toward it?” Danny says. “I was thinking that.”

“You think we’re dreaming? Is it my dream?” Malia scowls at the snow. “I wouldn’t dream about the snow like this. If I’m going to be naked in the snow, I’ll be a coyote.” A small smile then. “In most of my good dreams I’m a coyote.”

Which is not surprising to Jackson at all. “Focus, Malia. Maybe it’s a shared dream. Maybe this is one of us dreaming and we have to wake up. Maybe it’s something else. But the point is, I think you were right when you said we never left the school. I’m not even sure we’ve left the pool.”

“We’ve walked a long time,” Malia points out.

“And we haven’t gotten anywhere,” Danny counters. “I think you’re right, and I have an idea.”

Danny arranges them so they’re side by side, and he puts Jackson in the middle. Jackson holds on tight to both of them, tangling their fingers rather than just squeezing, and he closes his eyes as soon as Danny tells him to.

It’s colder like this, wearing skin instead of fur. He can feel it abrading him, leaving him raw. Beside him, Danny shivers furiously, and Jackson knows that if they don’t get out of this soon, Danny’s going to have frostbite.

Unless it’s not real.

He has to trust that it’s not real.

“Just walk forward slowly,” Danny says. “Keep your eyes closed, and remember what it was like in the pool. The ceramic floor, the water, and the pool itself. Keep walking until it’s real again.”

Keep walking.

One slow step at a time, moving in synch with his pack. Jackson takes it slowly, is so close to both of them that he feels the movement of their hips, feels every step they take. He inhales, and thinks maybe there’s a hint of chlorine in the air, although it’s still bitterly cold and heavy with roses.

There’s a soft grunt from Malia. “Stubbed my toe.”

“It’s working, keep going.” Danny’s voice is tight, his fingers too rough on Jackson. He tries to squeeze back, tugs Danny closer to offer the body heat he has.

Jackson isn’t expecting the floor to simply stop being there.

One moment he’s stepping forward, the next he’s plunging through the air and under water, coming up coughing and sputtering in the heat of the pool. He pushes his hair out of his face, looks for Danny and Malia and is relieved to see them both standing in the water with him.

There’s a clang of something heavy hitting metal, like a body against the lockers, and it’s not nearly far enough away.

Jackson hitches himself out of the pool, and they all pull clothes onto their soaked bodies. Danny holds his shoes in one hand, motions for the door. “Whatever’s going on here, we need to get out of here,” Danny orders.

They reach the door and there’s another shout, another thump.

“Divine move? You think you have any moves at all against me? You can kill the Oni, but me? I’m a thousand years old! You can’t kill me!”

Jackson freezes at the sound of the voice. He reaches out, shoves Danny behind him, puts up an arm so Malia can’t pass him. He won’t let someone else fall to this creature, but he can’t convince his feet to move, either. He’s protecting his pack. He has to protect his pack.

Footsteps from the other direction, racing down the hall. Isaac barely spares him a look, eyes going wide for just a second, then narrowing. “Get out,” Isaac hisses. “Get out of the school, and get safe.”

“Come on.” Danny grabs Jackson and Malia, drags them in the direction Isaac just came from, heading out of the school. For a moment Jackson watches as Isaac rounds a corner and disappears further into the school, then he goes, racing after Danny and Malia, determined to keep them safe.

They exit through a side door in full view of the front steps. It’s chilly outside, but compared to the snowy illusion, it’s better than it was before. The air pricks against Jackson’s wet skin, and he shivers for a moment before pushing Danny and Malia, dragging them with him into the shadows.

Derek is there, cradling one of the twins in his arms. Danny takes a step forward, but both Malia and Jackson hold him back, keeping him from running out into the middle of the tableau.

The other twin drops to his knees next to Derek, reaches out to touch the black goo that’s bubbling up from a wound in his twin’s chest. The injured twin grabs onto the healthy twin’s wrist, pulls him down closer. “Does it hurt you as much as it hurts me?”

Danny relaxes slightly when he hears the voice, a hitch in his breath that matches the twins.

“Yeah, Aiden, it does,” Ethan says softly. Jackson can smell salt in the air, knows that they are crying.

“Lydia’s never going to believe that I’m one of the good guys,” Aiden whispers, and Ethan shushes him, leans close, forehead to forehead and holds on.

Jackson hears the moment that his heart stutters to a stop, can’t look away from this second death of someone known. “It’s not Ethan,” he says softly. “We need to go.” He doesn’t know if this is over or not, but he doesn’t want to risk his pack. “Come on.”

Danny’s slow to move, but Malia nudges him from behind, and somehow they all make it to the parking lot. Danny yanks open the door to his car, points for Jackson to get in and Malia climbs into the back seat.

“My car,” Jackson says.

“I’m driving. We’ll get it tomorrow.” Danny slides into the driver’s seat, sits for a long moment with his hands on the wheel. Jackson can see that they’re shaking, but if he’s honest, his are shaking more. His whole body is starting to shudder, and Malia’s hand on his shoulder helps but not enough.

“Ethan’s going to need you,” Jackson says quietly. “He’s going to need your support.”

Danny opens his mouth, closes it again. “I have no idea what to say,” he admits softly. “I’m out of my depth here, Jackson. What do we do?”

“Mourn.” Jackson swallows hard, reaches back to find the words. “Allison’s dead, Danny. We went to find Lydia and we saw a battle, and she died. One of the Oni killed her. So Allison and Aiden. They’re both gone.”

“Beacon Hills,” Malia says solemnly, and the thing is, she’s right. Jackson’s not sure any of them will ever be safe here.

The shuddering starts again as Danny gets the car going. Jackson grips the handle of the door, closes his eyes and tries to breathe through it, but it won’t stop and he can’t figure out why. When Danny looks at him, he brings a hand up between them, waves him off. He’s okay. He’s really okay. He just… he needs to sit here. Quietly.

And not think about how Stiles is going to hate himself for this.

Fuck.

He pulls out his phone, finds Stiles’s number. He knows Stiles will have no idea who it is, but he sends a message anyway.

 _It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault that it possessed you, it’s not your fault for what it did in your body. I know you won’t believe me, but you have to remember: it’s not your fault_.

The text sends and drops into place in a conversation from what seems like forever-ago, when Jackson texted Stiles while Danny was on a bus with Ethan. Jackson touches the screen, glances sideways at Danny, and the shuddering slows.

Danny glances over, offers a hand again. What Jackson wants is to slide sideways, budge up close and feel the press of Danny from shoulder to knee. He wants that warmth of his pack next to him, but he can’t have that, not now. So he takes the offered hand, squeezing it tightly to both offer and receive comfort as much as he can.

“I should go home,” Malia says, her hand still on his shoulder. She leans her chin on the top of the seat, right behind Jackson.

“Do you remember how to get there?” Jackson directs Danny through the streets until they pull into Malia’s driveway, behind her father’s car.

Her adoptive father? Probably not her birth father. Which is just another thing that Jackson needs to sort through when his mind is no longer reeling.

Malia opens the door and climbs out, then she tugs open Jackson’s door and leans back in to hug him hard, rubbing her cheek along his. “I think you should go to school with me,” she says firmly, and Jackson feels Danny’s fingers go tight on his hand.

“I’ll think about it,” Jackson says, eyes closing for a minute as Danny squeezes again. “Maybe I will go back.”

Her expression goes bright, her eyes flashing momentarily blue. “Good,” she says, hugging him again, kissing his cheek. “Good. We’ll go there together. You can show me how to be human, and I’ll be your pack.”

She slams Jackson’s door for him, waves on her way to the door. Jackson sees Mr. Tate there waiting, and he lifts one hand and wonders what Tate thinks of him and Danny. Whatever he thinks, it’s probably wrong, but Jackson isn’t about to correct any impressions right now.

It’s kind of hard to make a good first impression when his shirt is still back in his car, after all.

Danny pulls out, heads for home in silence for several minutes. He waits until they’re paused at a stop sign before he glances over and asks, “Are you going to tell me all of what happened before you guys went to the pool?”

Jackson leans back, lets his head fall to the side so he’s staring out the window. “I already told you: Allison died. I could have saved her, and I didn’t. So Allison’s dead, and Aiden’s dead, and I am hoping to hell that the nogitsune’s gone. It split out of Stiles, and I… I don’t know.”

His phone buzzes, and he brings it up in surprise. He doesn’t expect a reply from Stiles, but that was the last text he sent so he’s sort of surprised that it’s not Stiles after all.

 _It’s over. Stiles is safe. Allison is dead and Aiden is dead_.

He can almost imagine Lydia’s sharp, short words, half-dead on the inside as she speaks them.

 _I know,_ he types back. _Long story. Danny and I are here for you when you want us._

A pause before she says, _I’m going home and I am going to lock myself in my room. Tomorrow morning, when my eyes are less puffy, I will be over at the house. Be awake, be human, be dressed. You will be serving me breakfast. We will be watching The Notebook, and I will be crying._

There’s another short pause before she adds, _I expect you to cry too_.

 _I will. We will_.

It’s easy for Jackson to admit it this time. He puts the phone away and says quietly, “We have a breakfast date with Lydia for _The Notebook_ and tears. We’ll make pancakes or something; Malia and I ate all the waffles.”

“I’ll pick something up in the morning.” Danny pulls into the driveway, throws the car in park and turns it off. He twists in his seat to look at Jackson. “Are you serious about going back to school?”

“Yes.” It seems like such an obvious decision. “Ethan’s going to need you, Lydia’s going to need me. Isaac saw me. If I want to protect my pack, I need to be with them, right? So I’m going back to school.”

Danny’s silent for a long moment, then reaches out to hook a finger in Jackson’s collar, tugging lightly. “And this?”

Jackson covers Danny’s hand, holds his fingers there. “Keeping it. I’m still Kula, and I still belong to me, right?”

Danny’s mouth curls up in a grin. “Right. So let’s go talk to my parents and get things made official.”

#

It takes time to explain everything to Danny’s parents. They leave out a few things, but they can’t avoid the topic of the deaths that have occurred. Mrs. Mahealani’s lips purse, then she drags them both into hugs, holding them close until Jackson squirms and Danny protests and she finally lets them go.

“Call your mother,” Mrs. Mahealani says. “We will need paperwork, to have you stay with us officially.”

Jackson holds up his phone, looks at the entire Mahealani family watching him, and realizes that he needs privacy for this. “I’m just going upstairs.” He walks away as they start talking about hot cocoa and gathering the supplies to make it. He knows there will be a hot mug waiting for him when he’s done, and they won’t interrupt him until then.

He closes the door to Danny’s room, lies back on Danny’s bed. He breathes in the scent to center himself, then dials the phone. It’s a ridiculous hour in London, but she answers anyway, tone worried.

“Jackson?”

“I’m okay,” he says, listening to the way her heart slows, the soft sigh of relief. “Some things happened here, and I needed to talk to you.” There’s a swift tick in her heart, and he rushes to say, “I’m okay, Mom. I’m okay. And I know you’re scared, I know you don’t like Beacon Hills. But this is where I belong. My pack is here, Mom. Me, Danny, Malia, Lydia. I need these people. That’s part of being a wolf.”

“I can’t pretend to understand,” she says slowly. “But I believe you.”

“Will you understand if I say I want to be here as a person?” Jackson isn’t sure how that’s going to go over, if maybe it was somehow easier to let him walk away as a wolf. “I want to live with the Mahealanis, and I’ll go back to school. Make first line in lacrosse, send you pictures of the trophies we win.”

“Swim team?”

It’s easy to touch the words in his mind now, easier to think of water with fondness. “The season’s half over this year, but maybe, if they’ll let me swim with them,” Jackson says. “Next year, definitely. I want my captaincy back.”

“Then you need to tell me what happened.” Her voice is stern, solemn. “Don’t leave anything out, Jackson. I’ll hear it in your voice. If you want me to trust you to stay there on your own, we will have honesty between us.”

He bites back on the words where he wants to say _that’s a first_. He presses his lips together, takes a slow breath and lets it out to marshal his thoughts and make his words work. “Are you still with Dad?”

The sound she makes is resigned, dry with frustration and sorrow. “For the time being, yes. I’m considering speaking with a lawyer.” He can hear the way her words change with a small smile. “A solicitor, here. I’m not sure if it will be easier to get divorced on foreign soil, or more difficult.”

“He treats you like shit.”

“ _Jackson_.”

“And I learned some really shitty habits from him.” Because Jackson can recognize that in himself now. He needed distance from his humanity, distance from his old life. It’s funny to think that becoming a murderous lizard, and then a wolf, might have been the things that made him the best human he can be. “If you decide to come home, I’ll be here.”

“You’re avoiding telling me what happened.” They’re both good at shifting topics, using the swift changes to avoid what they don’t want to poke at or touch. And that’s okay. Jackson understands her. She might not be his birth mother, but they were close once, when he was young, and with some distance he thinks he understands her better now.

“People died.” He might as well be blunt at the start, then try to figure out how to rescue the conversation. He begins with the nogitsune, even though that’s the end of the story, and he leaves out the part where it was Stiles who was possessed. There are parts of the story that can be skipped for now—like the potential that Peter might be his biological father—but he touches on the important parts. He tells her about Allison’s death, and about the twins and their involvement with Danny and Lydia, and finally about Aiden’s death. He tells her about how he formed his pack as a wolf, and how Malia is human now and going to school. He tells her about the water, and the nightmares, and he realizes partway through the story that there are tears on his cheeks, a path of wet drawn across his skin.

He hears the hitch in her breath, knows that she’s crying as well.

“I should have been there,” she whispers. “I shouldn’t have left you to do this on your own.”

“I think I needed to.” Jackson rubs at his eyes. “I know I’m the teenager here, Mom, but maybe we both needed to grow up.”

“The renters have our home for a year. The lease ends in August.” It seems like an abrupt shift, but Jackson follows the circle back to the topic she had avoided before. He nods, and when he realizes she can’t see it, he makes a small noise to let her know that he heard.

“I’d like to travel, when everything is done.” There’s a sound like she’s picking at something, or tearing paper, Jackson can’t tell exactly. It’s a nervous sound, and her heartbeat echoes the thought, quick and light. “I doubt I’ll need to leave the house here—your father is never home. But next summer, after everything’s signed, I plan to go to France and Italy at the least. You could meet me there, then we could return to Beacon Hills, find a smaller place. The income from the rental on the house would help.”

It’s a quiet way of saying that they won’t have as much money if she divorces his father. That their lives will be different, at least until Jackson comes into his trust fund when he’s eighteen. “I’d like that,” he says softly, and fuck, there are tears again and he doesn’t even know why this time.

“Good.” She goes silent for a moment, breath soft and even on the other end of the line. “Jackson?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

It’s the same thing she’s said every time they’ve ended a conversation since she left. It’s the same thing she’s said every time they’ve spoken since Jackson walked out on her and refused to follow his parents to London. They’re words, he knows, just words. But he feels the weight of them this time, the heavy meaning from everything else they’ve covered. And with everything he’s learned, everything he’s seen and everything he’s done, he gets it now.

“I love you, too, Mom,” he whispers, and he hears the catch in her breath, the soft sob before the line goes dead, and he sits there, staring at the silent phone cradled in his hands afterward.

Jackson’s seen enough fucked up relationships in his life to know that sometimes words are just words. He’s been in some of those fucked up places, done some terrible things to other people. But he knows that love isn’t about what you say and it isn’t about blood; it’s about what you do for the people you care about.

And sometimes you need to say it out loud, just in case they can’t see it. The words don’t mean anything to Jackson—he wants to see the truth of them in actions. But he can see that his mother means it, that she walked away from him because he asked her to, and that she’ll come back to support him. And he knows that some people need to hear it to believe it, that that’s how she needs him to show it.

They’re just words. He’ll make sure she really knows in the summer, when he sees her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hey, here we are, and the main part of the Nogitsune plot is past. All we have are the final bits to go. And yes, Jackson's changed a lot in the last 100k, hasn't he? Thank you so much for being along for the ride and for all your incredible support and comments. Only two more chapters to go! The next chapter will post on Sunday, October 9. Until then, see you [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Funeral, grieving.

It’s surprising how quickly Allison’s funeral is arranged. Lydia comes by the next morning as planned, and she tells them that Chris Argent has pulled strings and the funeral will be that afternoon. It’s a small, private ceremony, of course, and Lydia doesn’t tell them to attend. But they know the address and the time, so as soon as Lydia leaves after breakfast, Jackson goes back to his storage unit to pick up a suit and dress shoes, and at 3 PM he and Danny pull into a parking lot between the Sheriff’s car and Stiles’s blue Jeep.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Danny reaches across, and Jackson simply raises one eyebrow.

“Any word from Ethan about Aiden?”

Danny withdraws his hand. “No. Ethan texted me to say _family crisis_ and didn’t say another word. He still hasn’t told me he’s a werewolf, and he hasn’t even told me his brother is dead.” There’s a twist in his voice. “I don’t know if I can do this. I like him. I want to support him, but I just….”

“Don’t know if you can date a werewolf?” Jackson says dryly.

Danny shakes his head. “I don’t know if I can date someone who doesn’t trust me.” His voice is low, quiet, and he shrugs one shoulder. “Let’s go say goodbye to Allison.”

There’s no church service, which doesn’t surprise Jackson at all. The hearse is there, the back still open and the coffin already gone. Jackson steps from the car, and spots the gathering of the Beacon Hills pack by an open grave, the coffin waiting to be lowered into it. Jackson tugs his jacket into place, glances down to check the shine on his shoes as he waits for Danny to join him, then they walk together to join the others.

Derek spots him first, nostrils flared slightly, and he nods once solemnly. Scott notes the motion and turns, gaze narrowed when he sees Jackson. Jackson simply raises an eyebrow and takes a place next to Lydia, offering her a hand so she can lace their fingers together. Scott tilts his head, and Jackson rolls his eyes, because no, he’s not getting back together with Lydia. She’s his friend. His pack. That’s never going to change.

Danny presses close on his other side, leans in to murmur that the petite girl standing off to the side with her parents and Derek is Kira, and Jackson wonders why she smells so anxious. She moves in a constant, minimal motion, as if she can’t quite find her place, until Derek lays a hand on her shoulder.

Isaac is near Chris, his back ramrod stiff, his cheeks reddened from tears. Chris seems blank, his face rough with scruff, and Jackson would wonder if he felt anything if he had to go by expression alone. He can feel the pain though, the heavy weight of hurt and anger that rolls off of him, the way he’s tense, holding himself perfectly still.

And Stiles… Jackson only means to glance at him, but his gaze lingers when he realizes no one is paying attention. Stiles isn’t grey anymore, and he doesn’t smell half-dead, but he’s not quite right, either. There’s still a heavy sense of exhaustion permeating his pores, guilt and sorrow weighing him down. The Sheriff stands behind him, one hand on Stiles’s shoulder, and Jackson wonders if that’s all that’s holding Stiles up right about now.

Scott clears his throat. “It’s just us here.” His gaze flicks to Jackson and Danny, then away when Lydia makes a small movement. “We don’t have any kind of religious way of marking Allison’s passing. That’s not who she was. We don’t need someone to tell us that she walks with God, even though….” His voice catches, stops. “We all loved Allison. She was my first love, and she had such a huge heart. She loved me. She loved Isaac. I know she loved us all in return.” His hands clench, and Jackson smells salt and blood as Scott inhales roughly, rubs a hand across his face. “She loved us so much that she died for us. She saved Isaac’s life, and her arrows helped us even after she was gone. I don’t even know how to do this.” Scott holds out a hand toward Isaac, waits until Isaac slowly moves forward and takes it.

“We’re going to miss you,” Scott says softly. “Every day, every night. I have no idea how to say goodbye to someone, Alli….” He stops mid-name, chokes on the word.

“We just say goodbye.” Chris is there behind them, not touching either of them, just waiting. “That’s all we can do, just say goodbye.”

Scott lets go of Isaac and crouches down to scoop both hands in the soft, freshly dug dirt. He lifts it up, holds it for a moment as he nods to the person standing quietly by the crank. Isaac flinches when the crank moves, and the coffin slowly lowers into the grave; his shoulders hunch as he shakes.

Scott tosses the dirt on top of the coffin, then nudges Isaac who bends and scoops his own dirt to throw as well. Isaac stays kneeling when Scott stands and simply walks away.

Lydia makes a choked sound, and Jackson pulls her to him, cradles her head against his shoulder as she stifles a low sob. Jackson bows his head, presses a kiss to her temple. His own cheeks are wet, his eyes suspiciously hot and aching, and he bites his lower lip to try not to cry out loud.

He holds her until she pushes her hands against his chest, makes room for herself. When she walks away to crouch down at the graveside, he specifically moves in the opposite direction so he can’t hear her murmured words. She deserves the chance to make her private goodbyes.

Kira is talking quietly with Derek, her gaze drifting to Scott. Isaac speaks with Chris and Scott, resolve in his expression. The Sheriff and Melissa walk over to join them, and Stiles stays where he is, arms crossed defensively, shivering in the faint breeze.

Stiles glances up as Jackson walks over. “What are you doing here?”

“Mourning.” Jackson keeps his tone light, a little snarky. Everyone else is dancing on eggshells, but Jackson refuses to. Stiles doesn’t need to be handled with kid gloves. He needs the truth. “I was there when she died.”

Stiles’s gaze narrows. “Oh?”

“I hesitated,” Jackson admits quietly. “I saw what was happening, and I hesitated because I didn’t want to get in the way of her shot, and then she was gone. Then I panicked.”

“You panicked.” Stiles’s voice is low. Dark. “Why did _you_ panic?”

“Because I knew what it meant for _you_ , dumbass,” Jackson mutters. “Because I get it. Because I had a fucking flashback to waking up and knowing about every drop of blood on my hands, so I panicked because I’d fucked up again, and I hadn’t helped you.” He snorts softly. “Which doesn’t matter now. I just wanted to say, I get it.”

Jackson looks away; he doesn’t want to know how Stiles is looking at him now. “Lydia probably gets some of it because of Peter, and maybe Derek after what happened with Boyd. But I’ve been where you are right now. And you’re going to have nightmares. You’re going to turn around and see something that reminds you, and you’ll be right back there, like it’s happening all over again. And you might freak out, or shut down, or you might run.”

He risks glancing at Stiles, who’s just staring at him, amber eyes half-dead on the inside.

“If you want to talk, I’m around,” Jackson says. “I’m not your fucking therapist, and I know we’re not friends. Malia seems to think we’re pack; I’m not so sure about that, either. But I know what it’s like to be taken over and to kill because there’s something inside you making you do it. I know what it’s like to be fucking helpless and not able to control your own body. So I get it. That’s it.”

Stiles shoves his hands into his pocket, shrugs both shoulders. He looks at Lydia, who looks away quickly, and Jackson can smell the sharp scent of fear from her skin. Jackson frowns, glances at Stiles.

“It did something. Not me. It,” Stiles says. “I wasn’t even there at the time—it was after it puked me up in a pile of bandages.”

That’s the oddest image that Jackson has ever heard, and Stiles says it like it makes sense.

“I have no idea what it did, but Lydia’s afraid of me now.” There’s a low scent of pain, but Stiles’s voice still sounds dead. “There’s no amount of talking that’s going to fix this, Jackson. But thanks. It’s good to know that I’m not the only ex-villain in town. You, me, and Peter. That’s a great club to be in.”

“I’m staying with Danny.” Jackson leaves it at that. He’s not going to force Stilinski to talk to him; either he will or he won’t, and he’ll find his own way to get through the shit in the end. “And I’ll be back at school. On front line in the spring.”

“Hah, great, I’ll tell Scott.” Stiles rolls his eyes. “Great to know, I’m sure Coach was crying over missing you.”

Jackson smirks. “You know he was. No one else is as good as I am.” He claps Stiles on the shoulder, turns to walk away. He can’t miss the shift in his scent, the way some of the guilt has bled away, a little hint of the predator back in it. Jackson would say he smells like sarcasm, but he has no idea what that would smell like. Stiles just smells a little more right.

Lydia hooks an arm through the crook of Jackson’s elbow. “Take me home with you.” Her eyes are red and swollen. “I know we had pancakes this morning, but I want ice cream now, and you still owe me a viewing of _The Notebook_.”

“Danny drove. I’ll sit in the back with you,” Jackson offers. Lydia nods once, a quick, curt shake of her head, and presses her lips together. She pushes her hand against her mouth like she can keep the sobs inside, and Jackson holds out one arm so she can tuck herself close, bury her face against his chest.

Danny joins them on the way to the car, doesn’t question when Jackson climbs into the back with Lydia. Her sobs are quiet, soaking Jackson’s shirt as he strokes her hair, whispers nonsense words against her scalp. Danny stops at the store, takes Jackson’s wallet when he offers, and returns with two shopping bags.

By the time they pull into Danny’s driveway, the shaking has slowed and Lydia makes small sniffling sounds, rubbing at her eyes as she tries to pull herself under control. Jackson feels the way she shudders with every breath, her fingers twisting the fabric of his jacket, and it’s funny how he doesn’t even care that she’s probably ruining the lines of a Hugo Boss suit.

More importantly, it doesn’t matter right now. He’ll fix it later; after all, it is Hugo Boss.

Lydia steps out of the car carefully, smoothing down her skirt. “I am going to borrow clothes,” she says to Jackson. “Because frankly, I think Allison would understand that I want to be comfortable and eat ice cream and continue to cry for three days straight at this point.”

Jackson’s mouth quirks, and he feels a fresh prick of moisture in the corner of his eyes. “Yeah, I think she would.”

“You’re borrowing his clothes,” Danny comments. “Although I think seeing you in my sweats would be funny.”

“I could wear one of your t-shirts like a dress, and I’d wear it better than you,” Lydia tells him, tapping his shoulder on the way by. “Go get comfortable. Then get us ice cream, and we’ll talk.”

Jackson takes her upstairs to the guest room, leaves her with most of his clothes while he goes back to Danny’s room to change. He hangs the suit up in the closet, pulls on a pair of jeans he’d left in Danny’s room, and grabs one of Danny’s t-shirts. Lydia is waiting in the hall, a flannel shirt buttoned neatly and tied at the waist to shorten it, and Jackson’s sweats rolled and pulled tight to stay on her hips, her bare feet peeking out from too-long legs. She arches one eyebrow when Jackson emerges from Danny’s room.

“You don’t store all of your clothes in his room, but you do store some,” she notes, stepping back to let Danny pass by and go into his own room.

“I sleep in there.” Jackson shrugs, then points at the stairs, and hopes he’s managed to shut down the conversation.

By the time they’re settled on the couch—Lydia in the middle, with her head on Danny’s shoulder and her feet across Jackson’s lap—some of the redness has faded, and Lydia’s voice is no longer hoarse. Jackson has already loaded the DVD into the player, but when he picks up the remote to turn it on, Lydia touches his hand to stop him.

“Not yet. I promised that we’d talk,” she says, and Jackson lowers his hand.

“About Peter.”

Lydia smiles thinly. “Yes. About Peter.” She swings her feet off the couch, sits up with her hands folded in her lap. “Apparently Peter had some kind of a mental block. Something he had forgotten, but that his sister knew. Derek was able to get Talia’s claws, and they determined that for some reason, Talia managed to take the memory from Peter that he had a child.”

“And he asked you to find the child?” Danny makes a noise, and Jackson has to agree—Lydia’s not the first choice he’d make when digging for information. She gives them both a look, lips pursed.

“Yes, he did. And while I can’t be positive, there are—given the time frame—two perfect options. Both of whom are preternaturally beautiful, one of whom looks disturbingly like Peter did as a teen. And Malia has the fact that she’s a shapeshifter in a mundane family.” Lydia shrugs one shoulder. “I am actually far more certain that you are his child than Malia, but I can find thin evidence for both. So I gave him her name. However, we need to do more research.”

“There are blood tests,” Danny points out. “And birth records.”

“My adoption records are sealed until I’m eighteen, unless I have parental consent,” Jackson grumbles. “Remember when I tried to get them two years ago? I know they died in a crash and they kept her alive long enough to get me out. I don’t know anything else.”

“What are the chances that it’s a story?” Lydia asks. “What if there’s more to it? What if they lied in the first place?”

“My mother would tell me the truth now.” Jackson’s positive of that. He thinks they’ve healed enough that his mother would trust him with the information if she knows it. But he doesn’t want to ask right now, either, not on the heels of everything else that’s happened. “But if Peter’s my birth father, why wasn’t I a werewolf to begin with? And how could Malia be a coyote?”

“Malia could be a coyote for the same reason you were a lizard,” Danny says quietly. His arms lies across the back of the couch, the tip of his finger at the nape of Jackson’s neck. “Something happened. Something traumatic, and you didn’t take the path you should. For you it might have started with being born early. Maybe there’s some werewolf hormone that doesn’t happen until the last couple of months, and you being premature and ending up in NICU changed things.”

“Maybe.” It sounds logical. Possible, anyway.

“All it means is we need to look into it.” Lydia looks over at Jackson. “And I made him promise not to tell Scott. I can’t promise that he won’t tell Malia, which means either you need to tell her, or you need to keep her away from Peter.”

“You really think I look like he did as a teenager?” Jackson’s brow furrows, because he’s not sure he can see it. He hasn’t seen Peter recently.

“Danny, search for Peter Hale, Beacon Hills basketball,” Lydia orders, and Danny pulls out his phone. “Malia, Jackson? What do you plan to do?”

He doesn’t know. Instinct says to keep her far away from Peter. And he wants to tell her about the possibilities—he wants to hold on to any chance of family that he’s got. But when it comes down to it, she’s pack no matter what. “What evidence do you have?”

“My best evidence is that the Hales were known for being among the only wolves to be able to achieve a shift all the way into their wolf form,” Lydia says quietly. “Talia could do it, and Stiles once told me that they found a half a wolf after Laura was killed, so we think she could, too. But Peter, Derek, and Cora could not. However, you and Malia—”

“Malia spent almost half her life as a coyote, and when I needed to get away….” There’s nothing easier that Jackson can think of, than finding his inner wolf. “It’s not exactly strong evidence, but it’s definitely got possibilities.”

“Exactly.” Lydia grabs Danny’s phone, turns it to show Jackson the picture on the screen. It’s grainy, and the fashion choice for basketball uniforms of years gone by is definitely terrible, but it proves her other point. The shape of the mouth, the shape of the face and the cheekbones—the boy labeled Peter Hale could be Jackson’s sibling, easily.

Or father.

Jackson lets out a low breath. “Look into it. I trust both of you. I’ll talk to Malia and we’ll figure it out from there. It… it doesn’t change anything. We’re still pack. Blood isn’t what matters here.”

“Blood has never mattered as much as you thought it did.” Lydia cradles his face, kisses his cheek. “We’re still your pack, yes.” She moves to sit across his lap, curled into his chest, and nudges Danny with her foot until he comes closer as well. Jackson is surrounded, with Danny pressed against his side, and Lydia curled on top of him. And yes, he has to watch _The Notebook_ , but it’s worth it.

#

Jackson can’t quite convince himself to fall asleep. Danny’s already snoring softly, lying on his back with one arm thrown out and hanging off the bed. Lydia went home hours ago, and Danny’s parents checked in on them, made sure they were okay after the funeral. Everything’s fine now, for a value of fine that fits with Beacon Hills, but Jackson just can’t close his eyes and relax enough to sleep.

His phone buzzes on the nightstand and he picks it up, turning it so the light from the screen doesn’t shine on Danny’s face.

_tomorrow_

He smiles at the simple text, touches the label for Malia’s name. _I’ll be there,_ he tells her, and the phone goes silent. It has to be hard for her, going back to school after so many years in the wild. She’s learned a lot since returning to human, but she’s still a coyote under her skin. She’s also genuine and Jackson’s pack, and he will fight anyone who hurts her.

And maybe, just maybe, she’s his sister.

Jackson shifts back to the list of conversations, scrolls down to find Cora’s name, and sends, _hey_. He doesn’t expect her to be awake, and is surprised when he gets back a response.

_Shouldn’t you be asleep? Someone told me you have school tomorrow._

He smiles at the screen. _Isn’t it past your bedtime, too? And yes, I’m going back. Someone has to be the king of the place. I can’t let Lydia rule by herself. Besides. My pack needs me._

Pack is a loose term. He’s going for Lydia, Danny, Malia. But he’s also going because the McCall and Hale packs have been shaken, and maybe they should band together. Maybe if he hadn’t stayed on the sidelines, Allison and Aiden would still be alive.

_Good boy. Keep an eye on my brother._

_If he’s in school, that would be creepy. Unless he’s a teacher. No, still creepy,_ Jackson decides. He really doesn’t want to see Derek at school. He has no idea what Derek does all day, but teaching probably shouldn’t be it.

 _He won’t be in school. He’s doing okay, I think. He talks sometimes about talking to you again. I think he’s jealous_.

 _Of me?_ Jackson can’t understand why. Yeah, he has parents, sort of, but they’re in London and it’s complicated. And then there’s the whole kanima thing.

 _Because you can become the wolf_.

Oh. That.

Jackson hesitates with his fingers over the keyboard, glances at Danny who makes a noise in his sleep and turns toward Jackson, throwing his arm over Jackson’s chest. He types slowly.

 _Don’t tell anyone, because we don’t have proof yet._ He’s not sure how to word it, and he gets back a _what????_ before he can manage to say anything else.

 _There might be a reason why I can become the wolf,_ he types slowly. _Lydia found out that Peter had a child, and your mother hid it from him. He might have had two. Me and Malia._

 _Oh wow_. The first response is quick, then his phone goes silent for long moments, and Jackson wonders what’s going through Cora’s mind. _That would explain a lot, cuz,_ she finally says, and Jackson smiles slightly.

 _Yeah, it would_.

His phone lights up with a message from someone else, and he switches to that screen to see Stiles’s name. He sees Cora’s response of _go to sleep_ and ignores it, focusing on Stiles’s words right in front of him.

_Does it get better?_

It’s not an easy question, and Stiles, of all people, deserves a serious answer. _Eventually,_ Jackson sends back. _It’s not perfect, but it’s better_.

 _How much better?_ Stiles asks, and Jackson isn’t sure how to quantify that.

He still has nightmares. He had one last night, but it was quick and he fell back asleep as soon as Danny touched his neck, pulled him in close. He still feels like he can’t breathe sometimes, and he knows that there are things he will run away from before he thinks about it. But it’s better. It really is better than it was before.

 _I’m not drowning anymore,_ he finally says, and he wonders if Stiles will understand.

 _I get it. Thanks_.

His phone goes silent, and Jackson sets it aside. He rolls over on his side, nudges backwards to fit himself into the circle of Danny’s arms, and sighs when he’s surrounded by his scent. He can sleep now, because if he does start drowning, he knows Danny will be there to pull him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just one more part left. And it's a short one, just the proper coda on the end of this storyline, before the next begins. I can't believe we're actually here already.
> 
> I will be posting the finale to this first next week, then I will start posting the new story immediately. I will tag the new story to the best of my ability. If you spot a tag that you're not sure about, or that will change the story in some way that will make you not like it, I encourage you to read at least the first chapter anyway. The first chapter of the sequel, while starting that story, also provides something of an epilogue for this one.
> 
> Thank you so much for being here. I'll see you all next Sunday for the final chapter!


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please trust me, read this, and read the notes at the end when you're done. Okay?

Jackson isn’t breaking into school this time.

He and Danny drive separately, so Jackson can swing by Malia’s place to pick her up. She texts him _come in_ and he climbs out of the car, knocks on the front door and stares at the man who glares back at him when it opens. Malia waves from the living room and picks up a brand new backpack, throwing it over her shoulder. She kisses her father on the cheek as she nudges past him out the door.

“Everything is waiting for you at school,” Tate says, and Jackson can smell the trepidation rolling off his skin. Jackson wonders how much of Tate’s disbelief is because he doesn’t _want_ to believe in what happened to Malia, as if by ignoring it, he can pretend that she’s safe. That she’ll stay safe, no matter what. “They have your schedule in the office.”

“I’m just coming back, too,” Jackson says easily. “I’ll make sure she gets to the office.”

Tate shifts his gaze back to Jackson, brows furrowing again.

“I told you, he was in London.” Malia says the words easily, and Jackson wonders how often she practiced them.

“How did you meet again?” Tate asks slowly.

“Stiles,” they both chorus, and that doesn’t seem to clear Tate’s expression, but it does make his scent ease.

Malia grabs Jackson’s elbow, tugs until he follows her off the steps and back to the car. She ducks inside, pulls the door closed and doesn’t look at him. “He thinks we’re having sex. He doesn’t think I should know any boys.” She shrugs one shoulder.

“Definitely not having sex.” Jackson shudders. Malia was like a sister to him before, and now there’s the possibility that it’s actually true. He will _never_ be attracted to her.

She glances at him. “He doesn’t understand pack. Now take me to school. You’re going to have to help me catch up. But I like the internet.”

“You like reading.” Jackson throws the car into reverse and backs out of the driveway. He catches the happy scent suffusing the car as she smiles and sinks back against the seat.

“I do. I really like reading. It’s the rest of it that’ll be awful.” Her grin widens. “Let’s go do this together.”

Danny’s waiting in the parking lot when Jackson pulls in next to him, and they walk into the school together. Lydia’s by her locker, chatting with Kira, and she lifts one hand and offers a small smile. Malia waves in return, then grabs Danny’s arm as she spots Stiles and Scott and starts waving again.

“Come on.” Jackson hooks his fingers into Malia’s. “Let’s go get our schedules.”

Danny snorts softly. “You’re coming back in the middle of the year. You’re going to have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Thankfully, I’m living with my tutor,” Jackson retorts, nudging Danny with his hip before he walks away.

It doesn’t take long at the office, and the secretary is just as charmed by Jackson as she ever was before. Jackson and Malia compare schedules before Coach shows up to spirit her away for a tour of the school. Jackson follows them out of the office, pauses in the hallway to shake his head as they walk away.

“Is that really a good idea?” Stiles asks. He’s leaning against the wall just outside the office, as if he were waiting for them.

Jackson tilts his head, listening in on what Coach is saying. “You really should try out for track in the spring,” Coach tells her. “You’ve got excellent muscle definition.”

“I had to run from cougars trying to eat me,” Malia answers seriously, and Coach nods, murmuring that he’s got that same problem. Jackson snorts.

“I think Malia can handle herself just fine.” He starts walking in the opposite direction and somehow isn’t surprised when Stiles falls into step beside him. “She’s not nuts, you know. Neither are you.”

“I didn’t think I was.” Stiles’s voice is flat, and his scent is still thick with exhaustion. Jackson glances over and Stiles isn’t looking at him, his eyes slightly hooded as he looks down the hallway. “But I don’t think you go through all that and come out the other side strictly sane, either, do you?” Stiles finally looks at him, both eyebrows cocked.

Jackson starts to smirk, then just huffs a low laugh, shakes his head. “It takes a toll.”

Stiles nods, turns away again. He shifts directions to where Scott is talking quietly to Ethan. “Thanks. For responding last night.”

“Any time,” Jackson says, and he means it, which is almost surprising. Stiles doesn’t look at him, just walks away and joins the others. Ethan looks up and past Stiles, spots Jackson and his gaze narrows.

“Hey.” Danny comes up behind Jackson, hand on his upper back, fingers stretched just enough that Jackson can feel them brushing where his collar lies hidden under his shirt. Tension Jackson didn’t know he was holding releases. “I need to go talk to Ethan. Wait for me after that.”

There’s anxiety, hurt, anger, all mixed together roughly with the Armani of Danny’s scent. Jackson glances at him and has to resist nuzzling in close, pressing his nose to Danny’s throat and leaving his own scent there to mark him. He swallows, walks with Danny to the edge of the lockers, and leans against them, head tilted and ears cocked as Danny and Ethan sit on the stairs just out of view.

“I have to leave Beacon Hills.” Ethan’s voice is solemn, and it cracks a bit on the word _I_. Jackson can smell the grief, thick and cloying, that clings to his skin like a shroud. “I’m sorry, I just can’t stay here.”

“It’s okay.” Movement, and Jackson imagines that Danny takes Ethan’s hand. The slide of fabric on stone as Danny moves closer to him. “I understand. And you’re incredibly good looking, and smart, and sweet, and I really like you. But I just don’t think I can do it.”

“Do what?” Ethan sounds confused.

 _Be with someone who won’t tell me the truth_. The words are in Jackson’s mind, and he wants to say them, for Danny’s sake. He wants to shake Ethan, to tell him that all he had to do was to be real, to include Danny in his life instead of lying to him. He bites his tongue, shakes his head when he sees Stiles looking at him, brow furrowed.

He can hear the smile in his voice, hear the soft skip of an almost lie in his heartbeat when Danny says, “Date a werewolf.” There’s a pause, and Danny laughs softly. “Dude. It’s Beacon Hills.”

Jackson’s hearing is good enough that the kiss is obvious, soft and slow, and probably sweet. He doesn’t care. He tilts his head back, tries to ignore the way Stiles and Scott are watching him, and the way Danny smells like sorrow.

“I’m sorry about Aiden,” Danny says, and Ethan’s heart rushes with a moment of surprise. “It’s probably better for you this way. There are a lot of memories for you here, and Beacon Hills isn’t the right place for everyone. Good luck. I hope you find your pack.”

Another kiss, and Jackson peels himself away from the lockers, stands with his books folded against his chest like armor. His chin is in the air as he waits for Danny to round the corner. They stand shoulder to shoulder as Ethan walks down the hall and out the door. It clangs softly in his wake, and Danny turns his back on it, putting his hand on Jackson’s back again, nudging him to get him moving.

Jackson shifts a little, and Danny raises his hand, covers the place where the collar lies, and Jackson sighs.

“You happy now?” Danny asks, and Jackson tries to sift through his scent and figure out what answer is okay to say.

He tastes sorrow, yes, but he also tastes hope and happiness, something more settled than he’s found in Danny’s scent in months. Jackson smiles slowly, and he looks over at him as they walk to class together. “Am I happy?” The smile grows, and he leans into Danny’s touch. “Actually, yeah. I think I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said that this book covered season 3 canon? We all remember how season 3 ended, with Danny's iconic line ("Dude, it's Beacon Hills") to Ethan. And that's where we are. That's this moment, and that's the plot line that had to end. Danny wasn't going to cheat on Ethan. That's not Danny. No matter what he feels about Jackson. But Danny knows where this is going. He's just waiting for Jackson to get there, too.
> 
> What does this mean for our boys? It means that you should read the first chapter of the sequel when it posts. No matter what you think of the tags on the new story, read the first chapter. Because while it is the first chapter opening a new storyline for the boys, it is also a coda of sorts and could've just been a short story on its own to end this one. It's an epilogue, in a way. But it's the first thing that has to happen after season 3 was over. And you'll like it, I promise.
> 
> I hope you come along for the ride through the next book. The second story will be 21 chapters long, according to my outline, and I've already written the first 15 chapters (61k words so far). I have posting material through the end of the year, and plan to finish writing the last six chapters as soon as I get the next several arcs of my original fic outlined.
> 
> Thank you so much for being here for the last OMG number of words. So much love and thanks and wonder at the beautiful comments. Jackson is my boy, and I have loved being able to tell his story. <3
> 
> Now go read _Don't Let Me Drown on Dry Land_. I'll see you over there.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)! I welcome all conversations about Jackson, and questions/comments about the story. Please come flail about my favorite angsty wolf!


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